When You're Close to Me
by onemoremoondance
Summary: Virginia Wolfham is a singer at a dingy jazz nightclub until Murdoc decides he needs a new band member. However, Virginia is more than she appears to be, and she and Murdoc may have more in common than he thinks. Based on the theory that Murdoc is an Immortalist. set during Plastic Beach days. Murdoc/OC M for language and eventual sexual themes
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: This is my first story in several years. I was on here under a different username and published several Harry Potter Stories. I decided to give it another go, so please, be kind. Flames will be used to heat my tea. I own nothing, except Virginia. I'll try to post once/week but I'm a uni student and things can get kind of crazy. Anyway, enjoy!**

When you're close to me

Chapter 1

When I was younger, and someone would inevitably ask me what I wanted to be, I would reply with a big smile on my face, "I want to be just like my dad!" I never imagined my life would end up like it has. Sure, I was like my dad for a while, but now, I would give anything to turn back time, undo the things that landed me here: at a grimy jazz club outside of London.

I sat at my dressing table, putting the finishing touches on my make-up. Everything about me harkens back to the jazz age in the 50's, from my pearls to my evening gown and ruby-red lips. I have to go on in a few minutes. The manager warned me I had a special guest: a man by the name of Murdoc Niccals. I am familiar with the name, sure. Everyone in Great Britain has heard of the Gorillaz, but I don't know what he'd want with me: a two-bit night club singer. The bouncer calls my name, and I stand up, grab my sax, and walk out into the blinding lights of the stage.

I open with "Send in the Clowns". I'm feeling a bit down tonight; my stint at this particular club will be ending soon, and the years of restlessness are beginning to wear on me. I take a long, slow solo on my tenor sax, letting my emotions flow through the horn. Normally, I'd open with something sizzling, like "It don't mean a thing (if it ain't got that swing)", but tonight I couldn't put myself in that frame of mind. I eased up on my set after that, moving into "Fly Me to the Moon". It's easy to have flexibility when it's just a bassist, drummer, pianist, and myself.

I have always thought being on stage is therapeutic. It's easy to forget everything and ease into the familiar rhythms and licks. Of course, it's hard not to notice the lank, green-skinned man sitting in the corner booth. That must be Murdoc.

My set was clean, my voice was low and smooth, and I was pleased. With time comes consistency, and I'd certainly had more time than I thought I would. I'm sitting at my dressing table, combing through my dark brown hair, when he enters. He's tall, with dark hair and eyes. Handsome, I note, with no little amount of surprise. His upside down crucifix dangles above a black t-shirt and jeans. I smile at him in the mirror. It doesn't quite reach my eyes.

"Virginia Wolfham?" He asks.

"Who else would I be?" is my tart reply.

"Alright then." He approaches me. I can smell the alcohol on him from several feet away.

"What do you want?"

"The Gorillaz need someone new. Since Noodle… died… We've been missing a more feminine touch."

"Look, Murdoc, I'm quite happy here" (I wasn't) "and I plan to be here for a long time." (I didn't).

"I wasn't asking, Ms. Wolfham". He grins wickedly, approaching me. The use of my last name puts me on my guard, an age old reflex coming in to play. I'm reaching into my desk, searching for an old friend long unused when he presses a rag to my nose and mouth. My eyes widen, the familiar scent filling my senses. I try to fight it, but I give in after several moments. Blackness comes and I sink into it.


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N Here we are, on time, as promised. Woo! Doing good! Anyway, feel free to leave a review after reading. And I promise, there is more to come. What am I missing... ah yes. Flames will be used to add some sizzle to Virginia's jazz.**

Chapter 2

I wake with a start, my heart racing. I remember a time when I was immune to chloroform, but it would seem that time has passed. I look around somewhat blearily, sleep clinging to me still. It would seem that the fiend has me underwater; I see schools of fish swim past my window. My mind is sharpening, and I look carefully around the room. The asshole broke into my apartment. All of my clothes are tucked neatly in a closet. I'm still wearing my evening gown. I continue my observances, finding a faded photograph of my parents and me on a table next to the bed. My heart quickens as I quickly realize the one object I need to see is nowhere to be found.

With newfound energy I spring out of bed and tear out of the room like a bat out of hell. I race down halls and upstairs until I reach the kitchen, where I find the fucker standing at the counter, buttering some toast. Rage overcomes me, and I rush him, grabbing a knife on my way. I have him pinned against the wall, knife against his throat. Fear flashes in his eyes, then it's gone.

"Where is it you disgusting piece of shit?" I growl, pressing the knife into his throat. Old habits die hard.

"What?" he asks sharply, fear in his eyes, again.

"My tenor. It was my father's. Pre-world war II Selmer Mark IV. If you pawned it or harmed it in any way, I swear to whatever demon you worship that I'll gut you like a fish". I draw blood, for emphasis. I missed this, I realize under my panic, a fire long gone out sparks to life again.

"Relax," he chokes, "it's in the studio. Its part of the reason I brought you here. Now will you please let me down?" I release him from my grip and step back, but I keep my hold on the knife. He eyes it warily. I feel my heart rate beginning to slow, the adrenaline fading away. Seeing a pot of tea on the stove, I take it and pour myself a cup. I need something to take the edge off, though.

"Where's your whiskey?" I know the sod has to have some hidden around here. He silently foes to a cupboard and pulls out a half-empty bottle. I pour a generous amount into my tea and then take a large gulp. Better. "Want some?" I offer him the bottle, gesturing to his own cup of tea.

"No, thanks. I like my tea plain." Seeing the look of surprise on my face, he grins, looking suddenly charming. "Don't tell anyone, eh?" I nod, taking a long drink from the bottle before placing it back where it belongs.

"You handle your liquor well, then?" he asks, skeptically.

"I can drink a man under the table, if I have to. Never if I'm performing, though. Gunks up my pipes, and my sax." I take a sip of tea. English breakfast. Strong with a kick, just how I like it. Silence reigns as Murdoc eats a piece of toast, keeping an eye on me. "So, why me, anyway? I'm a jazz singer. I haven't the faintest clue who you guys are or what your music is like".

"Well, we needed a woman's touch around here, like I said. Really makes the band, and I like your sax sound. Might be able to work it in. I wasn't told you played. We needed a female vocalist."

"That's all well and good," I say, taking a seat, "but you still haven't answered my question".

"Noodle is… was… unique. She made the band more interesting. Thought you might liven things up around here. You've got a reputation as a fire ball. I doubted it up until about five minutes ago."

"I don't think the kidnapping was necessary, you know"

"Oh, that's just how he is. He kidnaps all the guest artists, but you're staying longer." A perky voice in this gloomy place startles me. I whip around in my chair and find myself face to face with a blue-haired young man with a wide grin on his face. He sticks out his hand, "I'm 2D. I set up your room".

I hesitantly take his hand. "Er… Thank you, I think."

"Don't mind him", Murdoc says, "he's our idiot front man. Took a couple blows to the head". He grins like the devil spawn he is. I had heard the stories, of course, Murdoc had given numerous interviews on how the band came to be.

"Hello", a mechanical voice says behind me. I let loose with a little cream and whip around. Standing behind me is something strange, mechanical.

"What the FUCK is that?!" I yell.

"It's an animatronic Noodle. Murdoc made her," 2D says cheerily. "I really missed her. And we needed a lead guitar."

"Lovely," I say, "she seems pretty real." But there's no life behind her eyes, I note. Not perfect, but then, nothing is. 2D takes Noodle by the hand and walks out of the kitchen, humming a merry tune.

"The idiot hates it here. Thinks the fish are out to get 'im. So I put him in a room under the water level." Murdoc grins. That bastard.

"Seems rather cruel, doesn't it? What has he ever done to you?"

"He's been a pain in my ass for years now. I made that Noodle thing just to get him out of my hair."

"She is rather advanced," I muse, "I'm impressed. Underneath your ass-like exterior lies a genius."

"Evil genius, if you please," he says, throwing me a wicked grin that lights up his eyes. I'm draw in for a moment. I shake my head. Not again. I know his type. "So," he begins, "Where did you learn to handle a knife like that? I didn't know being a nightclub singer was so dangerous." He smirks at me and I feel something inside me snap.

I sigh inwardly. Oh, what the hell. I'm stuck here anyway. "Honestly? I'm former MI-6, asshole."

"You're pulling my leg," he says, laughing a bit.

"I'm quite serious, actually. My dad was in it. They recruited me right after college. I served for a few years, then was let go after an interpersonal affair went bad. He stayed on. What can you expect? I can't control my feelings in the presence of a man." I say this matter-of-factly, a bit of dry humor creeping in, and Murdoc's look of bemused disbelief turns to one of awe. We both sip our tea in silence for a couple minutes as I let the shock set in.

"How, how old are you?" He asks finally.

"Thirty-eight," I say. He narrows his eyes.

"You don't look a day over thirty."

"My family ages well." He nods, letting it go.

"Why didn't I know you were MI-6?" Not that it would be any of his business.

"They cleaned my record. It's as if those years never existed. They falsified and said I was working some obscure corporate job and left to follow my dreams of being a headliner." I laugh at the stupidity of it all, and Murdoc joins me. His laugh is a harsh sounding bark, but a laugh just the same. I take a gulp of my tea and love the way it burns going down. After a moment, and another sip, I say, "So, really, I know you're not nice enough to build Noodle for 2D's sake alone. What's the real reason?" I feel like I'm interrogating a prisoner again.

"Alright. Figure I should tell you. Several years back, I was imprisoned in Mexico. Got myself into a bit of trouble down there, booze, whores, all that lot. I was in Tijuana, actually. Met a raven, Cortez. Nice bloke. Anyway, I caught the attention of the Black Cloud after an arms deal went bad. I meant to do that, of course, but they're a bloody ruthless group of mercenaries. I think there's something else, too. My own personal Boogeyman, if you will. I don't know if he's working with the Black Cloud. Anyway, I could use someone besides cyborg Noodle. You got a gun?" he grins, of course, wickedly.

"I did," I say, irritably. "My Smith and Wesson was under my dressing table. But you kidnapped me before I could grab it and bash your miserable head in." I reach over and firmly smack him upside the head.

"Ow! Bitch!" he yells.

"Overrated man-whore," I coolly retort. I sip my tea, and I can feel the whiskey kicking in.

"Man-whore? Certainly. Overrated? I'm hurt!" he says, looking shocked. "I can get you guns. Actually, hang on." He suddenly gets up and walks out of the room. I sit quietly at the table, drinking my tea.


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: Hi guys! back for another week! Enjoy!**

Chapter 3

About a week of my strange new life passes without great incident. After leaving abruptly my first morning, Murdoc returned with two Desert Eagle pistols and a shoulder holster. He instructed me to make a list of anything else I would need. Clearly, the man takes his personal safety seriously. I've been exploring my new home since then. I've found a nice workout area, and Murdoc assures me he'll put up a target range for me. Even when I wasn't with MI-6, I would still go shooting about once a week. My aim hasn't changed much. I go running every morning, like I always have. I hate it. I always hated it, but I kept myself in shape even after I left MI-6. I know I'm technically a prisoner here, but I feel at home. I need somewhere to go after the last night club, anyway. This is an acceptable alternative. 2D is bright and friendly, followed everywhere by the animatronic Noodle. Murdoc is frequently surly when in the same room as 2D. He also drinks, frequently. I'm not surprised. We've recorded a couple songs already. Murdoc is anticipating that this album will do quite well, adding to the Gorillaz's popularity.

The Desert Eagles are a marvel to me. I've used bigger guns before, but these are by far the biggest pistols I've seen. I'm itching to see what kind of damage they'll do. I miss my Smith and Wesson, though. That thing has been with me for longer than I care to admit. At MI-6, we valued keeping our weapons and gadgets in good condition. None of this James Bond wrecking everything shit. My list of weapons for Murdoc had included some semi-automatics, a small pistol, and some assorted explosives.

I've had a lot of time to myself here. Murdoc keeps to himself, and 2D is, well 2D. I don't mind, really. I like peace and quiet. Not long after I arrived, 2D showed up and offered me a CD of various Gorillaz music, saying he knew I wasn't familiar with the band I'm grateful he did. The CD is good, actually. I find myself, largely against my will, enjoying it. I often find myself dancing, forgetting, even.

When I'm not in the studio, and when I'm not learning about the Gorillaz's music, I'm exploring. 2D told me they call this place Plastic Beach, and that it's not too far from Bristol. The house is huge. At first, I found myself getting lost on a regular basis. Now, I feel like I know it well. I haven't been sleeping much, I never do. My thoughts feel scattered and disorganized. My nights are spent in aimless wandering. One night, my first night, I stumbled upon Murdoc's Winnebago. I could hear his conquest of the night moaning his name. I never made the same mistake again. Murdoc's conquests are staggering. A new woman every night. He has a small boat bring him on and off the island. I watch him come in and out from a rooftop balcony. I have an excellent view of the sunrise and sunset thanks to the position of the balcony. I'm sitting up there now, drinking some raspberry black tea. It's mid-morning, and I'm listening to the waves pound against the island. It's peaceful, and I love it.

"I need your help." Murdoc's urgent voice startles me. Tea sloshes out of my mug as I jump.

"What? Why?!" I'm angry, and I turn around to glare at him. He's shirtless, with flecks of sleep still in his eyes. He's lean, with a little muscle. Just a few scattered chest hairs. I sigh involuntarily; I've had a bit of a dry spell recently.

"Brought home this girl last night, you know how it is. Had a fun one night stand, but now she won't leave. Keeps prattling on about how we're 'an item' now. You've got to help me get her out."

I shake my head. "You should've known this could happen. Why should I help you anyway? May I remind you that you kidnapped me and are now keeping me here indefinitely?" I don't mind, really, but I have leverage, and I damn well mean to use it.

"Fine. I'll take you out tonight and buy your drinks. As many as you want. I'm desperate here."

I have what I want. "Alright. Here's what we're going to do…"

Ten minutes later I'm up and dressed, outside the front door of the mansion. I didn't tell Murdoc, but one of my Desert Eagles is in my bag, just in case. I take a deep breath, set my face, and walk in the door.

"Murdoc, love, I'm home!" I call out cheerfully, heading straight for the kitchen. The click of my boot heels echo off of the silent hallway, but I can hear quiet whispering in the kitchen. When I reach the kitchen, I walk right over to Murdoc and drape myself across him, planting a kiss on his cheek. He wraps his arms around me, as well.

"Mudzy" A nasal high pitch whine comes from across the table. I look at her, sizing her up. "Who is this?" she pouts her full lips, sticking her silicone inflated chest out and placing her hands on her hips. I have to fight the urge to roll my eyes. Murdoc sure can pick 'em.

"I'm his girlfriend, but don't worry, honey. Murdoc and I have an… agreement." Turning to Murdoc I say in a low purr, "How was she, love? Will she be joining us tonight? Or, now, if you prefer?" I kiss his neck, and I feel his muscles tense. I watch her the whole time out of the corner of my eye. On the surface she is unfazed, wearing one of his t-shirts, and little else. Then I see her hand is shaking slightly.

"Murdoc, you didn't tell me you had a girlfriend." Her voice is shaking slightly. I release Murdoc and waltz over to her, steeling my nerves on the way. I didn't think I'd have to do this.

"Hello, kitten" I say when I reach her, turning on my bedroom eyes. "My you are a pretty, young thing." I grasp her bum and brush some chemically blond hair off of her neck. "My, my" I whisper in her ear, feeling her tense. "Nervous, dear? I promise I'll be gentle." I nip her ear. She tenses, if it is possible, even further. "The thing about our dear Mudzy" I say, borrowing her disgusting nickname, "is that he does love a show." With that, I kiss her full on the lips, hands twining in her hair. The kiss is slow, and my tongue slips into her mouth. She tastes like cigarettes and stale booze. This seems to do the trick, though. She shoves me off of her with a look of fear and disgust.

"Murdoc, I'm afraid we won't work out. I won't be calling." She practically runs out of the room. As soon as she's out of earshot, I shudder and go to rinse out my mouth. Once I lift my head out of the sink, I notice Murdoc's mouth hanging open. I can see his sizeable erection poking out through his pajama pants. I feel a twinge. Damn dry spell.

"So, drinks at eight then? I'll meet you outside." I turn and walk out of the kitchen, leaving Murdoc still looking dumbfounded.


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: As always, the weekly updates continue. Now, I would like to remind my readers that reviews, excepting flames, are always welcome. I love getting feedback on my work. That being said, I will continue to update whether you guys review or not. Alright, hounding for reviews is over, on with the chapter!**

Chapter 4

At eight o'clock sharp that night I am standing outside of Plastic Beach, thinking that if Murdoc stood me up I'd shove one of my Desert Eagles up his ass and pull the trigger. The sick bastard would probably enjoy it.

I don't have to worry about being stood up, though, as Murdoc shows up at eight-oh-five. He grins at me. "Rule number one of being a star: always be late. I'm normally at least a half-hour late to anything, but I worried about keeping a woman with a gun waiting," he jokes. I laugh along with him; the man can be funny, if he tries. Murdoc is dressed much like he was the night he kidnapped me: a scruffy t-shirt, torn up jeans, work boots, and, of course, the necklace. I, however, have traded in my evening gown for a leather jacket, white t-shirt, jeans, and the boots I was wearing this morning. Of course, one of the Desert Eagles rests in a shoulder holster under my jacket, just in case. "So," Murdoc says as he leads me to the waiting boat, "What happened earlier, can I be expecting that on a regular basis?" He grins. "Perhaps we can have an 'arrangement' like you mentioned earlier?" He grabs my ass.

Instinctively, I punch him hard, right in the nose. Blood starts seeping out almost immediately.

"Touch my ass again, Murdoc, and it'll be worse than that. However, I am sorry about your nose. Didn't really mean to hit you that hard." I really didn't. I lost control, flashbacks creeping into my head.

"Not the worst I've had," he says, wiping his nose. "I'll take that as a 'no', on all counts then?"

"Yeah. I prefer my lovers have a dick, but to each their own." I shrug. We reach the boat and Murdoc hops in, offering me his hand once he's ready. I pointedly ignore it and jump in unassisted.

The boat is a lithe, powerful speed boat. The waves are almost too much for it, but we're not far from the mainland. The boat ride is silent except for the roar of the motor. I don't think we'd be able to talk over it, even if we wanted to. It doesn't take long to reach the mainland.

Once we arrive, Murdoc steps off first and, again, he offers me his hand, and, again, I decline, climbing out on my own.

"Last time I try to be a gentleman," he mutters under his breath, and I laugh.

"Not the first time I've gotten into and out of a boat in the dark." But it has been a while, I add, silently. I let Murdoc lead me down lamp-lit streets and into a dimly lit pub. For all I know, I've worked in this building before. I've lost track of all the places I've been. Murdoc leads me directly to a booth in the back of the bar. The staff we pass smile knowingly and nod. Let them think what they want, they'll figure it out soon enough.

"What do you want to drink?" he asks.

"Whiskey, straight, and a shot of tequila." Murdoc nods and swaggers up to the bar. Everyone in the place is sneaking glances at him, but I know he's a regular here. There would be far more commotion if he wasn't. There's a stage set up with some instruments on it. I idly wonder if the band is any good.

Murdoc reappears with our drinks and sets mine down in front of me. He has a martini in his hand. He raises his glass to me, and says, "Cheers, Bond," before draining the glass in one gulp and setting it down. "Waiter's bringing me a whiskey. Just thought I'd have a bit of fun, first." I laugh and take my shot of tequila.

"So, you're a regular here." It isn't a question.

"Oh, yeah. Great place, this is, when I'm in a slum. Which is never, but still. Good place to pick up a girl with baggage. Someone experienced. Also a good place to bring the girl you pick up at a club. After hours drinks. They're cheaper here anyway." I giggle and rain the whiskey, just as the waiter comes with two more.

"Of course you like the bimbos in the clubs. They're young, they're drunk, and they're easy. Me, I'd come to a place like this. Hell, I'd work in a place like this." Murdoc laughs wryly, and I join him, knowing every word I said was true. I take a solid drink of whiskey. It burns like a friendly fire as it goes down.

"You know," Murdoc says, slurring a bit, "I was actually in your club several times before I introduced myself. The first time, I went in just to check you out, see if you were what we wanted. I was entranced. Jazz has always been a bit of a pink elephant for me".

"You're drunk!" I burst in, laughing.

"Yes, Pre-party drinks and all that. I have never," he continues, "been able to play jazz. Not with any passion, anyway. 'S not true jazz, when I play. When you play, when you sing, it's like I'm back in the 50s in some smoky club." I laugh, waving my hand to dismiss him.

"Jazz, jazz is not like any other type of music. Its fucking chaos, and I love it. It's like," I pause, draining my whiskey. Murdoc downs his and signals the bartender. "It's like being at MI6 again. There's an element of danger, a thrill. Bloody fucking brilliant. Okay, I'm drunk, but the waiter brings me another whiskey and I drain it anyway. I feel light, uninhibited, and I have a sudden burning question. "So, why… why are you green?" I hiccup a bit.

Murdoc drains his whiskey and signals for another. We sit in silence until the bartender drops off two more. Murdoc drains his and sighs, staring into the empty cup with an unreadable expression on his face.

"Alright. You've been straight with me, so I ought to be the same with you. I've been around a lot longer than you think. I started the London Fire, actually. Flicked a cigarette out a carriage window, poof.

"Yeah, right", I say. I should get up and leave, take my chance and run, but something keeps me rooted to my seat, some feeling that he's telling the truth.

"This isn't bull shit!" he says emphatically. I nod for him to continue. "I'm an immoralist. It's why I've been around so long, since the dawn of time, as a matter of fact. Been around so long I'm rotting." He grins.

"Are you sure that isn't the millions of cigarettes catching up to you?" I pause to drain my drink. I think I'm quite drunk, now. "So the whole Satanist thing?"

"Appeals to me. Seen 'im at work, too. I've been to Hell, Virginia, and I highly recommend it." He laughs and drains a drink the bartender just dropped off. "So, this might be a tender subject," he slurs, "but what's with your attachement to that sax of yours?"

I sigh. I had a feeling this would come up. "It was my dad's. We were close. Like I said, my dad was an agent in MI6, but he loved jazz more than anything. He played that sax really well, and he taught me to play it when I was young. He, he died when I was 17." I'm crying a little. My drunkenness has made my emotions rather raw. "I kept the sax. I played and I started to sing in college. I took some classes for it; I spent a lot of time learning about jazz on my own. I spent a lot of time watching it live, too, but I always knew my place was at MI6." I scoff. "Shit feeling that was." I slipping into melancholy. I'm not a particularly fun drunk, most of the time. Murdoc is silent, somewhat contemplative. He looks out across the bar.

"D'you think," he says, "that I can get that red head to come home with me?" He points to her and licks his lips. I snort and smirk, cheering up a bit.

"Depends, got any drugs on you?"

"I'm hurt!" he cries, "I can seduce a woman using only my wit and charm. I could seduce you, if I wanted, but I choose not to."

I bark out a laugh and crack a smile. "Thanks, Murdoc. Maybe you're not devil spawn, after all."

"Oh, but I am." He grins at me, waggling his eyebrows and sticking his tongue out. Without warning, he sticks his foot into the space beside our booth. A burly man holding two pints of beer walks past and trips on Murdoc's foot, spilling his beers all over himself. He stands erect, over 6'5", over a foot taller than I am and several inches on Murdoc. He snarls and lunges for Murdoc, grabbing him by the throat. I rocket out of the booth and draw my pistol, cocking it any hoping I'm not too drunk to aim properly. The man looks up at the sound. His eyes widen, and his hands go slack. He slowly backs away. Murdoc scrambles up and bolts for the door. I put the safety on my gun and run after him.

I find him a block away, bent double and laughing. If I was sober, I'd call him an idiot and ask if he had a death wish. But I'm drunk, so I laugh until I can't breathe because it's fucking funny.

Since our drinking was ruined by an angry giant, Murdoc and I stagger back to the boat. He offers his arm to me again, and I take it. I'm unsteady on my feet. It's a relief to sit on the boat. The ride back seems very quick, and before I know it, I'm in my room, collapsing onto the bed.


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N: I'm on time! Barely. Feeling the crunch of exams. Enjoy! As always, R &R**

Chapter 5

I wake up the next morning with a terrible hangover. The last thing I clearly remember is drawing my Desert Eagle on the guy that Murdoc tripped. Everything else, laughing, getting on the boat, collapsing into bed, comes in disjointed flashes. My head is pounding. I groan. My mouth tastes like something died and rotted in it for about a week.

My stomach churns and I scramble out of bed and into the bathroom to vomit. Once I finish, I lean over the sink and scoop some water into my mouth. I look into the mirror, observing the damage. My eyes are bloodshot, my dark brown hair is a mess. I try to care, and I promptly give up. Tea. Need tea.

I throw on a t-shirt and sweats and head out into the hall. Why are the lights so fucking bright? I squint to minimize the irritation as I walk to the kitchen. Mercifully, the lights are out in there. Murdoc is sitting at the table with a cup of tea and a bottle of whiskey, his head in his hands. He looks up as I walk in.

"Don't you look like a dream," he mutters, smirking. I give him the finger, it's all I can muster. "Temper, temper." He pours me a cup of tea, anyway; a new gesture of civility that does not go unnoticed. He then open the whiskey bottle, which is half-empty, and pours me a cup of that, too, "to take the edge off," he says. As I take a sip of tea, I notice his nose is bruised from where I hit him last night. I feel a twinge of remorse. The tea is ginger, probably mixed with a black tea to give it a kick of caffeine.

"Why ginger?" I croak.

"Good for nausea." I nod, then regret it. We sit in silence, occasionally sipping whiskey and tea. Murdoc drinks his whiskey straight from the bottle. I can feel the nausea starting to fade, mercifully.

"Good morning!" 2D calls as he bounds into the room. His voice makes me feel like my head is going to explode.

"SHUT UP!" Murdoc and I yell in unison, then we both regret it. I clutch my head in my hands, moaning while I wait out the pain. Murdoc, however, chucks the whiskey bottle at 2D, missing by a couple inches. It shatters against the wall.

"I'm sorry 2D," I say, "Murdoc and I are really hungover. Can you keep it down?" 2D nods and starts making himself some breakfast. I feel bad for the poor guy. Murdoc is so awful to him for no good reason, if you ask me. Once 2D finishes making his breakfast, he sits between Murdoc and I, pulling out a prescription bottle and handing us each two Vicodin.

"For your headache. This should knock it out," he half-whispers cheerily. I smile gratefully and down the pills with the rest of my tea. Murdoc takes his with the rest of my glass of whiskey. The pill takes effect quickly and my head clears. I sigh and thank 2D.

I get up and pour myself a bowl of cereal. When I sit back down, I notive Murdoc galring at 2D. I'm about to chalk it up to Murdoc being a generally angry SOB who doesn't like 2D in general, when I notice something: Murdoc isn't really glaring at 2D. He's looking past 2D, and out the window. I turn and look, but there's nothing there.

"Why the long face?" I probe.

"Nothing," he snaps. I shrug and go back to my cereal. I have my theories, after all. Murdoc is an angr man, and I suppose sometimes it's better left in silence. "It's just," his voice startles me, "I had a dream last night, about that _thing_ that's after me. I don't dream."

"Look, whatever it is we'll-"

"I don't care what it is!" he spits, cutting me off. "Don't say 'we'll handle it'. We who? I have a village idiot, a mostly functioning animatronic and _you_ , a washed up MI6 agent who's spent the last several years playing hussy in a nightclub." Murdoc looks like he's about to go on, but I've heard enough. I stand suddenly, knocking over my chair. Taking what's left of my breakfast, I chuck the bowl at Murdoc. Filled with hurt and anger, I run to my room and change into track shorts and gym shoes, deciding that the best cure for my emotions is to work them out.

I walk to the workout room Murdoc has set up and jump on a treadmill. I start running, but I'm still fuming. Night club hussy, indeed. That insolent little fuck. Who does he think he is? Then, my thoughts pause. I have been working in nightclubs for longer than I care to admit; I suppose I have lost my edge. My aim, as far as I have tested it, is as good as ever, due to the fact that I would go to shooting ranges every week. However, my instinct, my observation skills, everything that differentiates a spy from and infantryman, has dulled over the years. It kills me to admit this, even just to myself.

I've run myself too hard and too fast; I get a stitch in my side that makes me wince as I gasp for air, but I don't stop. I taste the salt of tears that I didn't know I had shed. I can't tell if it's out of frustration or regret, so I push myself harder, eventually switching from cardio to strength training. I try in vain to rid myself of a bit of fat that I've carried on my stomach for as long as I can remember. I work until I can't feel anything but the burning of my muscles. I spend the rest of the day studiously avoiding Murdoc and doing some target practice. There's some comfort for me in firing my guns, some sense of control. The ones I've ordered have arrived, and I am well occupied until the end of the day.

When I finally collapse into bed, my muscles are screaming, and I'm exhausted. I can't remember the last time I was this tired. I sink into sleep like it's the long-missed embrace of a lover.

 _I'm with him again. Everything comes in flashes. We're in a hotel room, the view of a city outside past the balcony. I believe we are somewhere in Italy. I know this place. He and I are oblivious to the world around us. He's kissing me, I'm unbuttoning his shirt. His lips move to my neck, and I find my dress is already pooled on the floor. His lips trail down to my breasts and I gasp My hands slip off his shirt, then knot in his soft, blond hair, drawing him closer as he buries his head in the crevice between my breasts._

 _He's laying me back on the bed, climbing on top of me. My hands work hurriedly at his belt before slipping off his pants. There is a sense of desperation in the way he kisses me. We pause just long enough for him to slide a condom on before resuming. His lips feel like home to me._

 _He's inside me, now, and my back arches with pleasure. I feel complete once more. I kiss his neck, his shoulders, his chest, as he thrusts. My hips move with his. We've always been in perfect sync. His hands tangle in my hair as I rake my nails down his back, eliciting a moan._

 _Somehow, his lips find mine, and he kisses me passionately. He's going hard and rough, and we're both so close to the edge. We each finish with a cry of the other's name._ I wake up crying, missing something that I haven't felt in quite a while. I pull a pillow to my chest and wrap myself around it, going back to sleep.

 _I'm looking at his body on the ground, fresh wounds still seeping blood. I recognize this scene, too. We're in Berlin. I kneel beside him, crying. His eyes are still open, frozen, fixed on something I'll never see._

 _Without warning, he sits up and looks me straight in the eye. I scream. "Why'd you do it Virginia? Why?" he asks. I watch as he begins to decompose before my eyes. This isn't right. This isn't what happened. He's still alive. I know he is. This isn't happening; this isn't real._

I wake up, screaming. I lay my head in my hands, and I notice my cheeks are wet; not much time has passed between the first dream and the second. I need a stiff drink. I get out of bed and walk out of my room in search of a whiskey bottle: my remedy for restless sleep.


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N: Oh geez, sorry guys. I'm home for the holidays/winter break and my motivation took a nose dive. They were right when they said you can't get anything done at home. I'm so sorry this is a week late. Enjoy! Have a good New Year**

Chapter 6

As soon as Virginia left the room, Murdoc knew he'd made a mistake. Normally, this wouldn't phase him. Normally, he'd laugh and go on with his life. This time, the taste of regret is a bitter, foreign thing. He looks up to find 2D staring at him, his mouth hanging open. This is not unusual, but not welcome, either.

"What're you lookin' at, you good for nothing fool?" Murdoc growls.

"I don't think that was necessary. Certainly caused quite a scene. What've you got to show for it? You're covered in milk, and you pissed off one of the only people that could help you." 2D's sudden reason angers Murdoc. He stands up, making sure to give the other man a solid whack on the back of his head as he walks out of the room. He changes his shirt and then makes his way to the recording studio, determined to get some work done.

Murdoc sits down at the sound board, grimacing. Noodle was usually here to help him with this. She knew what she was doing. She knew what he wanted, what the Gorillaz needed to sound like. Murdoc misses her. He wishes he knew what happened to her. He had even gone to Hell to look for her, but she wasn't there. However, while he was down there, Satan had told him something odd. He had said that there was another out there, someone who had sold their soul, someone who was in a sort of limbo, unable to die, stuck as they were when they had made the deal. Or that could have been a cad acid trip, and Noodle could just be dead. Murdoc isn't sure. He'd had a rough time after filming "Feel Good, Inc" that had involved several prolonged benders.

Murdoc shakes his head, banishing these thoughts. He has to get these songs polished up and ready. This next album, Murdoc tells himself, is the big one. This is the one that would rocket the Gorillaz to the tops of the charts and leave them there. He would be a god among rock stars. His dream would be reality. He put on "Some Kind of Nature" and began to listen. He made a few tweaks, upping the bass, but it still wasn't what he wanted, what he imagined for this song. Angrily he slammed his fists on his legs. Had this been Kong, he would not have hesitated in going for the soundboard, but he'd paid a lot of money for this thing.

Most of Murdoc's day went like this, endless frustration over songs he couldn't get quite right. He needed help. He needed Noodle. Even Russel would do. He could ask Virginia, but he heard gunshots and figured it would be wise if he stayed away for a while. Eventually, Murdoc gives up and trudges back to the kitchen. He looks at the clock; it is the middle of the night. He yawns, feeling the strain of the day, and scratches his crotch, idly wondering if he's picked up venereal disease. He pours himself a strong drink and sits down, intending to nurse it for a long time. His thoughts turn pensive. That thing that was after him scared the hell out of him. He had so much to do. World fame would be his; he didn't care how many people he had to sacrifice to get through this. Animatronic Noodle would be helpful, as long as she didn't short circuit. Virginia, she wasn't some washed up singer. Murdoc could still see the fire in her brown eyes. She as still an MI6 agent, at heart. He had the bruise on his nose to prove it. Even so, Murdoc wasn't sure she could handle this.

As if on cue, Virginia stumbles in, rubbing her red, puffy eyes. When she sees him, she looks surprised, but her expression quickly turns to anger. However, much to Murdoc's surprise, she doesn't leave. Instead, she gets a glass and pours a large whiskey.

"Nightmare?" he asks.

"What do you care?" she snaps.

"Look," he says, somewhat irritated, "I'm sorry about earlier, alright?" he softens, "I was an ass. Well, I'm always an ass, but I… look, I'm just, sorry." He watches her relax and bush her brown hair out of her face

She sniffs and says, "That doesn't excuse what you said, but you may be right. I've lost my edge. You're just an ass for pointing it out."

They sit in silence for a moment before Murdoc finally says, "I need your help. I'm trying to polish up some songs, but without Noodle… I just need another opinion. Will you come down tomorrow and help me?"

Virginia was silent for a moment before she drained her glass and said, "Alright. Not sure I'll be too much help. I'm off to bed. Just needed something to take the edge off. Remembered why I hate to dream."

"What was it you dreamed about?'

"Just some painful memories. Old lover, death, the basics." She gets up to leave. "'Night, Murdoc." He murmurs a reply. He drains his glass and refills it. Idly, he wonders about Virginia's nightmare. He's beginning to care, it seems, about this woman. Shaking his head, Murdoc drains his glass in one gulp before heading to toss and turn for a couple hours before finally falling into a mercifully dreamless sleep.


	7. Chapter 7

**A/N: Sorry about the hiatus. I had like, zero motivation over winter break. However, this is a long chapter, so that's okay. Enjoy!**

Chapter 7

The next morning, I'm up early. Dreams plagued me even after my run-in with Murdoc. They had changed, though. Instead of my old lover, it was Murdoc, taking off my clothes; his lips kissing mine, leaving them burning for more. He's an ass. I don't need him in my life, and yet, when he's not being an ass, we connect. He's an ass, I remind myself. I haven't entirely forgiven him for what he said, but he's right, and he's scared. I would be, too, if I were him.

I feel some trepidation as I walk to the recording studio. While I have listened to their music (courtesy of a CD provided by 2D), I don't feel like I truly understand the Gorillaz's sound. I know jazz. I feel it in my heart, but this, this is foreign to me. When I walk into the studio, I see Murdoc sitting at the soundboard with headphones over his ears. A plan for some revenge forms in my mind, and I quietly close the door behind me. He's concentrating on the music; as I creep up behind him, I see his eyes are closed. I reach over and raise the volume on the soundboard enough to give him a jolt and startle him. Washed up hussy my ass.

"What the fuc-" He turns and sees me grinning at him, "Oh. Hey, Virginia. Suppose I deserve that." His scowl softens to a smile. I'm beginning to love the way his eyes light up when he smiles. "Sneaky and evil. I'm rubbing off on you."

"Please, I was sneaky long before I met you. MI-6 had a special class entitled 'sneaking around and scaring the piss out of your friends 101.' As far as the evil bit, you brought it upon yourself. We laugh as I slide into the seat next to him and pick up a pair of headphones.

"Noodle usually did this with me. Said I was rubbish at it. 2D's rubbish at it, too. Of course, he's rubbish at everything. I need help. I can't get this to sound quite right." I nod and he continues, "This song is called 'Some Kind of Nature'. Done with a guest artist. He presses play, and my eyes close. The song starts out well, but as it goes on, I begin to notice something.

"There's a ton of bass," I say. Murdoc stops the recording.

"What?" he takes the headphones off.

"There's a ton of bass. It's about all I can hear. Good God, man."

"I liked it."

"Of course you did. It's all YOU. Here, try this." I turn down the bass volume and make a few other changes before putting on the headphones and pressing play. I keep my eyes open this time and watch his face as the recording plays. His lips slowly twist into a smile; his head bobs and for a minute I feel like there's something more to him than the gruff, evil son of a bitch he is.

"That's… better," he says, grudgingly.

"You're clearly a good musician, so why aren't you the front-man? You like yourself enough."

"I'm not the image people want. They love 2D. He's sweet and good looking. I'm rough, green, and they love to hate me. Get a lot of tail, though."

"Murdoc, you're a bad boy. Everyone loves bad boys. Men want to be them, women want to sleep with them. Of course, then women want to change them. They like the danger and the mystery, at first." Murdoc and I are leaning closer together. "Then they want the nice, husband types, but they get hurt in the end."

"They think we're easy to change, that we WANT to be changed," he whispers, moving even closer. We sit in silence and he slowly, carefully brings his calloused hand to my face and brings me millimeters from him. I'm looking into those hard, brown eyes. I can't breathe, for a moment, but then I come to a pull away suddenly.

His eyes flash from surprise to understanding. "That's what happened to you, isn't it? At MI-6?"

"Not, not exactly," I say, biting my lip. "I didn't know what he was. He was another agent, my partner. We got close. How could we not, jetting around the world together? I thought it was real, that it was forever. Then, I found out he was banging the receptionist. Several of them, actually. I was a damn fool."

"No," he says quietly, "You didn't know."

My eyebrows raise, and I eagerly deflect saying, "Is that a moment of humanity from you? I'm shocked!"

"Don't tell anyone." A kind smile flashes across his face. We spend several hours together, fixing songs and talking about nothing. I can't handle real, my mind is crowded. I have to consider the idea that I feel something for Murdoc, something more than the tenuous friendship we have now.

I need to think, so I excuse myself and head to the rarely used living room. When I want to think, I dance, so I put on some jazz. I do a basic Lindy Hop, closing my eyes and hoping I don't run into anything.

I can't be with Murdoc. There's only one way that can end: he'll break my heart. Sure, I'll recover in due time, but it took me years to get over… him… I'm hesitant to put myself out there again. Dating a bandmate, anyone you see on a daily basis, really, is incredibly stupid. I would know.

As I'm wrestling with all this, Murdoc slips into my arms, putting a hand on my waist and taking the lead. I startle but keep in step with the music. "In the Mood is playing in the background.

"Why the dancing?" he asks, pulling me closer.

"Needed to think. I'd practice, but that requires a surprisingly large amount of thinking." I smile and subtly pull away. Being that close to him is… too intimate. "Sing, Sing, Sing" comes on and I grin. It's a fast-paced classic meant for a dance-off. Murdoc yanks me close and leads me around the makeshift dance floor.

He's a surprisingly good dancer, and we work well together. We pull off some complicated lifts, making them look effortless. There's something so natural about dancing with him. By the end of the song, I'm a little winded. Murdoc loosens his grip and we dance in silence for a few minutes. Then, "Moonlight Serenade" begins and he pulls me close once more, slow dancing.

"Where did you learn to dance like that?" I ask, genuinely curious.

"I did live through the jazz age did I not?" he jokes, "Dancing well was the only way to pick up women." He laughs. "What about oyu?"

"College," I say in a somewhat offhand manner. "You play enough gigs, you start to see it, and you pick it up." He nods. I have to resist the urge to lay my head on his shoulder. I'm far too comfortable in his arms, but I chalk it up to his prowess in the art of seduction. There's a comfortable silence as I stare at his lean, strong body, mentally undressing him. I need to get laid.

"What were you thinking about?" he asks quietly, catching me off guard.

"Nothing."

He nods knowingly. He hasn't the faintest idea. "Well, when I'm thinking about 'nothing' I'll go get a bottle and sit on the roof. You should join me next time you need to think."

"Maybe I will." I smile at him, and when he returns it, I get a twinge in the pit of my stomach. Thankfully, when the song ends, he disengages himself and saunters out, tossing me a smile over his shoulder.

After he leaves, I turn off the music and head out in search of my sax. I don't want to think anymore.


	8. Chapter 8

**A/N: Hi. Wow it's been a long time. Sorry guys. This semester is just really having a go at kicking my ass. So, maybe don't expect super regular updates for a while. Just have to get myself sorted.**

Chapter 8

Several weeks pass in relative peace. We're very busy recording most days. Murdoc and I have grown very close as we work on editing the rough recordings. He can still be an ass, to be sure, but I see there's a little more to him. He's incredibly funny, and his love for fame, music and the Gorillaz runs deep. He tells me about his time in prison, and his adventures in Mexico. I tell him about my dad, and some of the clubs I've performed in. I'm comfortable with him. We banter like old friends; I trust him. I can feel myself falling for him, but I refuse to give in.

He still goes out most nights, but he doesn't bring home nearly as many women. He says he's exhausted himself; I think he's hit a dry spell and it won't be long before he's ordering hookers. While Murdoc is gone, I'be taken to hanging out with 2D. He's a real sweetheart, but very stupid. He adores Murdoc, for whatever reason. I don't mind hanging out with him. It's actually nice to have the company, and he's fairly quiet. The one drawback is animatronic Noodle. She follows him everywhere. I've decided that, on the whole, she's rather unsettling.

When I have spare time, I try researching the thing that's following Murdoc. It seems like the answer may lie somewhere in the states, but I'm not certain. Not that I'm able to journey over there, anyway. Despite my growing relationship with Murdoc, I doubt that he'd let me leave in the middle of recording an album.

Tonight, I find myself feeling pensive, lingering on thoughts of the past. I decide to take Murdoc up on his offer for a drink. We've stayed up late drinking several times before, after he'd come home from a night out.

I go to the kitchen and grab several bottles of scotch and run outside, hoping Murdoc hasn't left yet. I find him just about to leave.

"Oi, Murdoc," I shout. He turns and looks at me. "Do you want a drink?" He shrugs and walks toward me.

When he reaches me he says, "Thinking about 'nothing' again, are we?" A sly smile creeps across his face.

"Perhaps I am. C'mon. Let's go drink 'til we can't see straight." Murdoc nods and follows me up onto the roof. Once we get there, we both sit and stare out at the ocean. The sun is setting, creating a rainbow of color.

"So," Murdoc says, opening the bottles, "do you want to tell me what you're thinking about or do I have to guess?"

I take a long drink before I say, "I'm going to need to get quite drunk, and even then, I'm not making any promises."

"What in the hell happened to you?" He takes a swig. "You're a lot like me, and believe me when I say you don't want to be like me."

"Look at you, all caring." I giggle. What's in this stuff?

"I'm evil," he says, defensively. "I don't give a damn about anyone." He takes a long drink. "But it's hard to not to give a damn about someone who you see so much of yourself in someone else. That being said, if you jumped off the cliff and died, I wouldn't really be phased."

"Good to know." I take a swig. We sit in companionable silence, drinking and watching the sun set into the ocean. Occasionally, one of us will say something about the album or make a jab at the other, but for the most part, it's quiet.

It's quiet, that is, until I'm fairly trashed. Then I say, "I wanna tell you something, and I wanna tell you 'cause I trust you and I have to tell someone. 'S killing me after all these years. But, I'm not sure you'll believe in me."

"I, myself, am a walking, talking, impossibility," Murdoc says. I think he's a little more sober than I am. "And that's just my dick," he slurs. I laugh. He's as drunk as I am.

"Okay, okay. Seriously, now. I, I told you I was thirty-eight. I'm, I'm not. I'm thirty one, actually."

"So? Big deal. 'S no matter to the band how old you are." He slurs. I remain silent, watching him. "Wait," he says, "how are you thirty, after having been in MI-6 and performing in clubs for what I understand to be years?"

"I was waiting for that. This is a long story, so I'm going to need you to shut it until I'm done, okay?" He nods.

"I was born in 1925." Murdoc looks like he's going to protest, but I shoot him a glare and he clams up. "My dad was in he played the tenor, still. That's why I have the Mark IV. He got it when it was new and left it to me when he died. He taught me to play when I was young. There was such good music, too…

"Anyway, he died in Germany in 1942. I was 18, already in university. I was going to study music, and I had just started singing. I was playing in nightclubs regularly. Then, after he died, I knew I wanted to be like my dad. We were close, and losing him… changed me. So when MI-6 contacted me during my final years, I couldn't say no.

"I loved being an agent. It made me feel closer to him. I think the only reason they let me in the field was my father: he was one of the best. I worked so hard to impress them.

"Anyway, I had this partner, THE partner, his name was Carter. He was, in a word, incredible. I thought he was, that we were, it. God I loved him. Of course, that's what fucked me in the end.

"We were in East Germany, and then the shit hit the fan. Carter, he, he got shot. He was hurt, bad, but I couldn't leave him; he told me to leave but I didn't. I watched the breath leave his body. I let them take me because I didn't care anymore. I just didn't.

"I spent a couple months grieving, praying to God that it was all a nightmare, but it didn't work. Of course it didn't. Didn't work with my dad, 'course not." I drain my whiskey bottle, feeling tears on my face.

"This was 1956, by the way. So, I turned to the only thing my naïve 31 year old self could think of: your old friend, the devil himself. Don't ask me how, but sure as shit, it worked. He took me down to Hell, said he would bring Carter back if I made a deal with him. So, of course, I did. Murdoc, I gave him my soul. One of the conditions was that it was for love, that we could live the rest of our lives together. If we did, he'd let me just die with Carter and then collect my soul. Of course, we both know the fucker set me up and that Carter was banging anything and everything that moved. Once I found out, I thought Satan would just collect me and it would be over.

"Of course, I'm still here. This has ended up being so much worse. Carter made me out to be some kind of crazy broad, so the agency sacked me. I went underground after that. It was easy to erase records back then. It was like I never existed, and I think the agency was okay with that, given all I knew. They told my family, my poor mother, that I was dead. It's been so many years, Murdoc. I haven't loved anyone since. Sure, there have been one night stands, but… My life is empty. Moveable. Took all my payments in cash, lived in shit apartments because the landlords didn't care about my name. There's nobody. Living is my hell." Murdoc is just staring at me, something in his eyes I can't read. He hands me his bottle and I drain that, too. I'm crying silently; I couldn't stop if I tried. Telling someone almost makes it worse, like this isn't some nightmare that I'll wake up from one morning.

Silence reigns once again and I worry that I have alienated my only friend in the world. Much to my surprise, Murdoc moves closer and puts his arm around me. "You're not alone, you know. As bloody cliché as this sounds, you're with us now, alright? And you know what, it's nice being the only one around here who can't fucking die." We're so smashed we dissolve into laughter, and I laugh so hard I fall over. Concluding that I am very drunk, I say goodnight to Murdoc and stumble to bed. I'm going to regret this in the morning.

 **A/N: so that's it for now. Not sure if I like this one or not... Anyway, huge thanks to everyone who has reviewed/favorited this story or me! Reviews make my day, honestly. Flames, on the other hand, will be used to heat my morning tea because our dorm microwave sucks.**


	9. Chapter 9

**A/N: Hello! Helluva hiatus! Really sorry about that! I was so busy this past semester I didn't have time to write. Anyway, I'm back on the horse, so to speak, and I am working on new chapters! I am hoping to get back to regular updates.  
ah! I almost forgot! This chapter is somewhere between PG-13 and M (closer to M, though), so if that grosses you out, don't read it. It's not the whole chapter, it's fairly obvious where you need to stop reading.**

Chapter 9

The next morning I wake up sick as a dog, resolving to avoid Murdoc at all costs. The relief of telling someone is outweighed by the fact that I told Murdoc of all people. He's pure evil; God knows if he'll use this to his advantage. Besides, I was so… open. I shudder just thinking about it.

My plan goes up in flames in about two days. Murdoc drags me (almost literally) into the studio to do some recordings with the band. I remain silent for the majority, only filling in with vocals and sax when asked.

After we finish, I try to make my escape, but I find Murdoc's green, bony hand grasping my arm. "Listen," he begins, "about the other night, I know you told me what you did in confidence. I'm no fool; I know when to keep my mouth shut; I know when a woman knows at least ten different ways to kill me. Just, don't be a stranger, alright? You're fun to get smashed with." He smiles and lets me go. I walk out of the studio, a slight smile creeping across my face.

The next day, I wake to find a CD sitting outside my door with a note on it: "I knocked, but you were sleeping. Made this for you. Gorillaz hits from over the years. Enjoy." 2D must have left another compilation for me; the man really is quite sweet. I should do something nice for him in return. I'm thinking about this as I get ready for the day and walk to the kitchen. I find Murdoc sitting with the animatronic Noodle, trying to show her how to hold an SMG. Noodle does not seem to be grasping the concept, and Murdoc has a look of consternation wrinkling his features.

"Murdoc," I say, smiling, "you didn't code her to use an SMG?"

"I programmed her to use a shotgun, figured it'd transfer over."

"More importantly, why are you doing this in the kitchen? Is the safety on?" He's an idiot. He's a genius, and evil genius, but he's an idiot.

"Fancied a bagel," he says as I spy the remains, "and" the gun clicks, "now it is." I sigh and walk over, taking Noodle by the hand and grabbing the SMG.

"My turn. Hope she's got enough AI to figure this out." Murdoc shrugs and sets about making himself another bagel.

Teaching Noodle to use an SMG is like potty training a toddler with dysentery. At first, shit gets everywhere, but eventually she catches on. Noodle is quick to catch on, despite the fact that she almost kills me several times. You'd think a man like Murdoc would now the subtle (and not so subtle) differences between a rifle and an SMG. The thought of teaching her to load and clean the gun is giving me a headache, so I shoo her and make my way to the living room. I have 2D's CD with me, and I decide to take a listen.

I don't know when I start dancing, but I think it's somewhere around "Dare". Now, "Stylo" is playing. I'm surprised at the new stuff on here. I remember working on this! I didn't know Murdoc would let 2D get anywhere near these recordings. My hips move in the rhythm, and I must acknowledge that I quite like the Gorillaz's music. I don't dance well, but nobody's around to watch me.

I zone out a bit, turning the music up and closing my eyes. Before long, "Stylo" ends, and a song I don't recognize come on. The recording is rough, raw, even. The electronic bits are unpolished. 2D must have recorded over a demo to give me this CD. It's a catchy and relaxed beat, and I feel myself adjusting to the new rhythm.

The lyrics begin, "'Up on Melancholy Hill…'" my eyes snap open and I freeze. That's not 2D's voice, its Murdoc's. This must be a really new demo. Murdoc's singing voice is gruff, but pleasant to listen to.

I hear the lyric "'Cause you are my medicine when you're close to me" and then the sound of a throat clearing. I whip around in surprise to see Murdoc leaning against the wall, a soft smile on his face.

"Do you like it?" he asks somewhat timidly. I'm taken aback by this change in him.

"Uh, yeah. I do. Though I suppose you're going to kill 2D for recording over demos…" I trail off, noticing something odd in Murdoc's expression. Is that…relief?

"He didn't record over anything. I made this whole CD. Got tired of your nonsense about not knowing anything about the band. This song is uh.. 'Melancholy Hill'. I wrote it after that night when you told me who you really are. I haven't really given a damn about anyone since- ever. I just… When I'm with you-" He pauses and moves close to me, his hands coming to rest on my shoulders, forcing me to look into his eyes. "I don't feel alone. I feel something other than rage and contempt. You're like me, in a way. Even before I knew, I felt something familiar with you. His hand moves to my cheek. I try to look away, but he turns my head and brings my lips to his.

Just like that, we're kissing, and it's passionate, raw. I'm not in control anymore, and I don't mind. I let his hands drift up my shirt and, for the first time in years, I'm self-conscious. As his hands wander up my stomach and to my breasts, I worry about the ten pounds I've been trying to lose for years. My stomach still has a little bit of flab on it. I should probably give up the booze…

Murdoc notices my distraction, and his hands suddenly shoot up under my bra. He teases me, and my breath quickens. His lips move to my neck. A soft moan escapes, and my hands scramble to take off his shirt. Once his shirt is off, I remove my own, and before I know it, Murdoc has removed my bra. I press myself against him, and I pull him back in for a kiss. I love the way his crooked nose brushes against my cheek. Without taking his lips from mine, he lifts me up and my legs wrap around his waist. He kneels and settles me on the floor.

I nibble his ear as I undo his pants. He slips them off, and I'm not surprised to see he's larger than average. I wonder how much of it is natural. As Murdoc goes to remove my pants, I find myself wishing that I had taken better care of myself, like I had gotten that Brazilian the last time I was in London. Normally, I don't give a shit about what I look like, but Murdoc brings out a side of me that I haven't seen since Carter.

As Murdoc's fingers work their way up my thigh, he looks down and says, "Natural. I like it." I grin and take him in my hand. I flick my thumb across the tip and elicit a gasp. Murdoc's fingers begin to work their magic. I lose control of the noises I make. I lose every thought except for the feeling of pleasure.

Finally I manage to gasp, "Condom?" Murdoc stops and starts looking through his pants pockets. I whine impatiently. He chuckles and returns to me, taking me in his lean, strong arms. My legs re-wrap around his waist. He thrusts and I lose all faculties I had mustered before. Murdoc is rhythmic and attentive, leaving no part of me wanting for his attention. On my part, my hands knot in his hair, and my nails rake down his back.

Frankly, it's the best sex I've ever had. Thousands of years of practice has made Murdoc a wizard. When Murdoc and I finish, and he rolls off of me, chest heaving, I turn and grin at him. He returns my odd, goofy smile. His arm reaches around me and pulls me over to him. I lay my head on his chest and feel my eyelids grow heavy.

 **A/N: *gasp* sex! okay, anyway, stay tuned to see what happens next! As always, review, favorite, subscribe, and a big THANK YOU to those of you who have done so already! Reading reviews makes my day! I'll use flames to heat the tea I need to remain a functioning adult.**


	10. Chapter 10

**A/N: Hey all! I wrote these next couple chapters while on a plane home after taking my friend back to her university for a summer internship. I wanted to post this chapter on Murdoc's birthday but, obviously, I'm a couple days late. But, still, Happy Birthday to the grumpy lead singer!**

Chapter 10

My eyelids flutter open to find it dark. I snuggle closer to the chest I was using as a pillow. "Carter," I whisper as an arm encircles me. When I see a green hand in my periphery, my brain snaps into alertness. What have I done? I think to myself. I carefully disentangle myself from the still sleeping Murdoc and scramble out of the room. I have to get out of here.

I run to my room, and escape is the only thing on my mind. I hurriedly pack a few clothes, my pictures, and my sax. I tuck the Desert Eagles into their holster under a jacket. I bolt out of the house before I'm seen before I realize I have nowhere to go, no way to get off the island.

Thankfully, Murdoc didn't cancel the boat that takes him off the island. I hop in and the driver gives me a weird look, so I flash a Desert Eagle. That does the trick, and he guns the engine. On the way to the main land, I try desperately to collect my thoughts. My training starts to kick in and I begin to make a list of the things I need to do to get out of here. I need papers to get myself out of the country. Murdoc will find me if I stay in England. Unfortunately, the British government, for all intents and purposes, thinks I'm dead. Why did I have to fuck up (literally, I think with a cringe) the one good gig I've had in years? Suddenly, a name pops into my head. Christopher, an old boss and friend, could give me the papers I needed.

As soon as I land, I book it to the nearest phone booth, keenly aware that I don't have time to be as careful as I would like. I punch the number in and pray that Christopher is behind the bar tonight.

"'ello?" His gruff voice is music to my ears.

"Christopher. It's Virginia. You still have that side business? I need papers to get me out of the country."

"Are you packing?"

"Yeah. Two big ones."

"That may complicate things."

"Just get it done."

"Fine. It'll be ready in the morning." I hang up and exit the phone booth.

The next morning, I meet Christopher in his bar. He hands me my information and wishes me well. Thankfully, he gets me clearance for the Desert Eagles, but he's done so by making me an Interpol officer. If anyone questions me, I'm screwed.

I make my way to Heathrow, and I try to think of somewhere I can go. I need to work, wherever I go, and I'm not that familiar with the states. Murdoc would find me in California, I can feel it in my gut. Eventually, I settle on New York City, feeling as though I can be invisible in a large city filled with high-profile Americans.

I pay for my ticket in cash, a longstanding habit that has helped me remain invisible and untraceable. The woman who sells me my ticket gives me a questioning glance as she reviews my Interpol papers, but I keep a calm expression and she shrugs it off. A part of me is relieved that I still look the part.

As the plane starts to take off, I look at the window and take a breath. Something deep inside of me is screaming for me to turn around and go back to Murdoc. He's surely noticed I'm gone by now, as it's almost noon. I can't go back; he's Carter all over again. If I stayed, I wouldn't have the guts to break it off. As it is, I'm in too deep. I lean my head against the seat and close my eyes, planning my next move.

 **A/N: _Indiana Jones_ style ending right there! As always, thank you to those who have favorited or follwed my little story!**


	11. Chapter 11

**Hello! So I'm back at my lovely university. I am writing this to you from my new (HUGE!) dorm room. I hope to get back to a more regular update schedule soon, if not this week. In the meantime, I have this chapter and the next prepped and ready to go, so hopefully the buffer will give me time to get ahead. In the meantime, thank you to all who have favorited/followed this story! Enjoy!**

Chapter 11

Murdoc wakes up slowly, and at first the fact that he is alone doesn't bother him. As his awareness increases, he realizes that Virginia should be laying on his chest, he soft, dark brown hair (if anyone asked Murdoc he'd say it was more of an auburn, but to hell with you for thinking he'd volunteer that information) cascading down her naked body. Cascading? Where the fuck did that come from? Murdoc shook his head. She probably just went to her bed, but as he looks at a clock and discovers it is about 9 AM, he knows that's probably not true.

Murdoc stands and gets dressed. He'll go to the kitchen to see if she's there and to make himself a bowl of cereal and some tea. Sex makes him hungry. Murdoc walks into the kitchen, scratching his ass, only to find 2D and fake-Noodle siting at the counter. 2D has a confused look on his face, which Murdoc writes off as normal until the twerp opens his mouth.

"Oi, Murdoc," he chirps, "Have you seen Virginia? She's normally up by now. Noodle and I can't find her anywhere, and her sax is gone." Murdoc's heart plummets; he feels his mouth go dry.

"What do you mean she's gone? We just…" Murdoc trails off. "Mother fucking SHIT!" He yells after a pause.

"What did you do, Murdoc?" 2D asks angrily. "We finally get someone who can come even marginally close to replacing Noodle; someone we both like, no less, and then you go and make her your fuck puppet!" Murdoc cringes, but the blue-haired twit is right. She left because of him. Murdoc feels an ache in his chest. He wants her snarky remarks, her beautiful smile. Besides, the band needs her. "Murdoc, we-" 2D begins, but Murdoc stops him.

"We can't go get her, you idiot!" Murdoc smacks the kid, taking out his anger towards himself once again. "I have no idea where she could have gone." Murdoc feels defeated.

"What if we put up signs?" 2D queries innocently.

"She's not a lost dog, 2D! She's a woman, okay? She's smart, strong, and extremely capable of becoming impossible to find," Murdoc crescendos into a yell.

"Wow," 2D says. "You've never referred to one of your conquests as a 'woman' before." He grins. "You _like_ her."

"Piss off. So what if I did? We'll never find her." Murdoc knows, deep down, very deep down, that he has to find her, but he's not going to admit that to the kid.

"Murdoc we have to look for her. I've never seen you the way you were with her. You wrote her a fucking song!"

"So what, 2D? She left, it's over. I don't want her. I don't need her." Murdoc goes and pours himself a shot.

"Bullocks," 2D snaps.

Murdoc drains his glass and sighs. "We have to find her. You're not right about much, but you're right about her."

2D grins again, the relentlessly cheery bastard. "Alright. Noodle, come on, grab your guns. We've got work to do!" Murdoc puts his head in his hands, already regretting this, but for Virginia, he would do anything.

They start at the airport, questioning everyone they see. Murdoc shows them a picture he took of Virginia while he had watched her perform. It seems like she's been in his life forever, not just a couple of months. Finally, someone recognizes her.

"She booked a ticket to the states. She was with Interpol, or at least she had a badge," the woman says, shrugging.

"Well," Murdoc says through gritted teeth. It's been a long day, and he's quite irritated at this point. "Where in the states did she go?"

"She told me not to say." The girl cracks her gum loudly.

"Fine, fine." Murdoc makes a snap decision. "Three tickets to San Francisco, first class."

…

San Francisco, the city of pompous assholes, Murdoc realizes this pretty quickly. He also remembers that he hates traveling with 2D. The man is far too perky. 2D always says "this is the one! She has to be here." Whenever they try a new jazz club. Murdoc is shocked by just how many there are. It's disparaging, really, and Murdoc begins to lose hope as the days go by. He's generally despondent, having abandoned true sobriety and proper hygiene.

Giving up on San Francisco, Murdoc moves southward to L.A. He figures that anyone who wants to make it big would head to this hell hole of a place. It seems as though the number of jazz clubs only triples, and Murdoc slides further into the bottle. Eventually, he just sends 2D out with Noodle, hiding in his hotel room most nights. He can't take any more disappointments. He can feel the dark presence that has been following him, and that too drives him to stay in his room. It's just easier this way, he thinks to himself.

Once L.A. is exhausted, or at least once Murdoc gets bored, the trio heads to Las Vegas, Murdoc's last hope. If she's not in a resort or a dive bar, he's giving up. He'll go back to Melancholy Hill, finish the album, and return to his life of sleeping around. Murdoc gets a bitter taste in his mouth whenever he thinks about that. He practically lives in this hotel room. He starts drinking as soon as he gets up, and doesn't stop until he passes out. He lives on room service, and when they try to send him a hooker (he's stayed at this hotel before, they know his tastes) he refuses. She's all he can think about when he's even a little bit sober, and that dark presence is freaking him out. Noodle and 2D grow tired of Murdoc's smell and his constant slur of drunken abuses.

Finally, animatronic Noodle has had enough. She shoves him out of the hotel room door with order not to come back until he's ready to "be a functioning member of the group". Fuck it, Murdoc thinks. He dimly realizes that drinking himself into a stupor on a regular basis probably isn't doing any good. He can't stand to hear the other singers perform while he's sober, as 2D has taken video to show Murdoc. San Francisco and L.A. were awful. He wants her voice. He needs it. He's tired of hearing sultry drag queens and jazzy wannabes.

Murdoc soon finds himself stumbling into, as it can only be described, a hipster and snooty tea shop. It's quite possibly the only one in Las Vegas. Murdoc feels a drunkenly inflated sense of pride in finding it. It's the only place around that doesn't serve exclusively overpriced, "artisanal" coffee. Murdoc can't stand coffee, actually.

The place is well-lit, and Murdoc squints. The light blinds his eyes as a month and a half long hangover is beginning to kick in. He shambles over to the barista, already feeling far too sober for his liking. He quickly scans the menu before ordering a London Fog with a bemused smile. Can't be that bad, right? Murdoc settles himself at a table facing a TV playing the news. He's the only one in the place.

The barista brings his tea. Murdoc lets it cool while telling the woman to turn the volume up on the TV. He closes his eyes and takes a long drink.

"… Who bludgeoned the victim with a deadly weapon: the butt of her pistol." Intrigued, Murdoc opens his eyes. "If you have any information regarding the identity of the subject, please call the hot line." Virginia's picture flashes across the screen as the newscaster speaks. Murdoc spits out his mouthful of tea and runs out of the shop. The tea wasn't that good, anyway.


	12. Chapter 12

**A/N: It's been about a week, so I thought I'd update. I have a decent buffer right now, which is good, because I have the sinking feeling that I'm going to be drowning in work before too long. Anyway, big thanks to everyone who favorited/followed/reviewed. The reviews always make me smile. Anyway, enjoy some general badassery from Virginia!**

Chapter 12

I step out on the stage to amuse tonight's crowd of tourists. My set starts with "Fly Me to the Moon" and ends with "Polka Dots and Moonbeams". My encore (much to my chagrin, I have a scripted encore) is "I've Got the World on a String". I hate it here; it's canned, inauthentic jazz. They've got me dressed in a sequined red gown with a slit up the thigh. I feel like a cheap imitation of my heroes: Frank Sinatra and Ella Fitzgerald. New York was one of the cities in which jazz was born, and now it is the city in which jazz has come to die.

I like heading a big band, I must admit, but it's not like it should be. I have always maintained that improvisation breathes life into the music, and there is none of that here. Every solo is scripted Hell, even my movements are scripted. There's no art in it anymore.

Two weeks ago, I resolved that I couldn't take the humiliation any longer, so I turned in my notice. I'm heading for Las Vegas after being in New York for 6 weeks. There are plenty of clubs there, and I feel something pulling me out west.

When I finish for the evening, I collect my last paycheck and leave. I return to my apartment, which is strewn with notes and books. My tenor sits abandoned in a corner, and I feel a sense of relief that my time in New York has come to a close.

I must admit (somewhat begrudgingly) that my time here has not been wasted. I have used New York's exhaustive public library system to research whatever is following Murdoc. I don't know why I'm doing this, seeing as I have no intention of seeing him again. I guess I just want to know if he's in any mortal peril. I think Murdoc is being chased by himself. Well, a manifestation of all the evil in him, anyway. My research has called it a Boogieman. There was nothing I could have done to protect Murdoc from himself. I could put one in the thing's head, sure, but that wouldn't solve the problem, not really.

I sigh and get ready for bed. With that mystery solved, my last connection to Murdoc is gone. I still ache for him sometimes, though.

It doesn't take me long to find work in Vegas. The club is nice. It's small, just me and a pianist. I feel like I'm home. I get up on stage every night my first week and sing my heart out. I blow on my tenor, and every note rejoiced in its existence.

Unfortunately, it also doesn't take me long to realize I'm being followed. Everywhere I go, I have a shadow. My shadow looks a lot like Bruce Willis; whenever I see him, which is often, because he is not as subtle as he thinks he is, an uncontrollable feeling of fear settles in my chest. I don't know why he's following me, but I sure as hell intend to find out. My Desert Eagles are never more than a foot away from me, even when I'm on stage.

Tonight, my first night off, I settle myself onto a bar stool, order a tonic, and wait. My shadow comes in a couple minutes later, though I pretend not to notice. That fucker has no idea who he's dealing with. So I sit, and I wait, knowing he'll make the first move. It's hard to keep an excited grin off of my face. I down several tonics, despite the dreadful taste, and begin to give the impression that I'm drunk.

My shadow swaggers over. Why don't you come with me," he says warmly, "I'll walk you home. It can get dangerous out there." An innocuous offer, but I know better. I feel alive for the first time since I left England.

I subtly flash my Desert Eagles and say, "I think I'll be fine."

He moves closer and makes a grab at me. "Those guns are too big for a lady like you; give them to me" he hisses, and the fear begins to rise.

Swallowing it, I wait for him to come even closer. He makes another, more skillful grab, and this time I react. I pull one of my guns from its holster, grab it by the barrel, and hit him hard with the butt. He stumbles backwards and looks up at me with anger in his eyes. He lunges and I hit him again, hearing his nose give a satisfying crack. I hit him hard on the temple, just for good measure, and he goes down.

"I'd say these are perfect for me," I whisper, nudging him with my boot, making sure he's out. I look up to see the whole bar staring at me, aghast, and it dawns on me how bad this looks. One of them has the gall to snap a photo.

With that, I bolt. I need to get out of town, and I know my shadow will come after me again. I think I need to get out of the country. Again. I run back to my tiny flat and hurriedly pack what little I brought with me, sling my sax over my shoulder, and run. I hotwire the nearest car and floor it.

I run out of gas just outside of Death Valley. I grab my things and start walking, hoping to find a gas station. I know he's following me. I have a hand ready to grab one of my guns out of my shoulder holster. Adrenaline courses through me, and my lip are set in a thing line that Carter used to call my "ass kicking face".

I hear the sound of a car coming up from behind me. I keep walking resolutely, strangely unafraid. Even when I was with MI-6, fear was something that constantly lived over my shoulder, invading my working hours. I learned to live with fear. It made me sharper.

A black car pulls up next to me. My muscles tense and I am ready to spring into action. The window rolls down and I catch a glimpse of blue hair.

"Hey Virginia!" 2D beams at me. I relax. "We thought we'd never find you!" It is only then that I see Murdoc in the driver's seat. He looks at me and I think I see relief in his eyes.

I stop dead in my tracks. My eyes narrow and my lips purse. I'm surprised at myself. All I wanted since I left was to see him again, and now…

"Get in the car, 'Gin." His voice is raw, like he has a hangover.

"No, Murdoc. I left for a damn good reason, and I can't just come back because you want me to."

"Because you're scared? Virginia, dammit, just get in the car. I came all this way because I want you to just come back. I'm scared, too. You're scary and you're fun and I just want you home again."

My face softens involuntarily. The thought of home is appealing, but I can't go back. My decision, however, is made for me as I hear another car flying down the road.

"Shit," Murdoc and I say in unison.

"2D, get in the back seat with Noodle," Murdoc says, practically throwing him. I climb into the front. "Draw your guns," he says.

"Murdoc, I think I know who this is. He's been following me since I got to Vegas."

"I think he's part of whatever is following me. He must've latched onto you when I got to Vegas."

"Just drive." Murdoc steps on the gas.

"This is Stylo," Murdoc says, proudly. I ignore him. The car behind us is gaining; I roll down the window and hoist myself onto the door, drawing both of my guns. The driver of the other car leans out and draws a gun of his own. It is indeed my shadow.

I look into the car and say sternly, "Drive carefully. I'd like to live long enough to tell you all the reasons why you're an ass, and why I won't come back with you." He smirks and gives the wheel a jerk. I bang one of my guns on the roof.

A cop car pulls out behind the two of us, and his sirens are flashing. Bruce Willis guy takes the first shot. "DUCK!" I yell as a bullet whizzes past my head. I fire several returning shots as Noodle pokes her head out of the window, brings out a gun, and starts shooting. It doesn't take my opponent long to incapacitate her. 2D pulls her in, looking worried. We're racing down the road now, and I feel badass, like I was before everything. "Will she be okay?" I shout at Murdoc.

"Think so," he shouts back, "Has anyone every told you that you look really hot when you're trying to kill people?"

"Shut it." Murdoc shrugs. He's driving more erratically, trying to avoid the bullets whizzing past us. The siren continues to blare. I slide back into the front seat, poking my head and arms out the window. I'm aiming for tires now, all hope of a kill shot lost. "You need to get us out of here, now."

Murdoc turns and grins at me. "I was hoping you'd say that. Ready to see something cool?" I feel my stomach bottom out as Murdoc swerves off the road. "Get inside and roll the window up." I do as he says, and a different kind of fear crawls up my spine. He floors it, and we're off the edge of a cliff before I realize it. We land in water, and I begin to panic, almost missing the way the car is shifting.

"What the-" the car is a submarine now. "Who the fuck are you? A _James Bond_ villain?" Murdoc smiles.

"We're going home. We'll surface somewhere, drive to an airport, rent a plane, and then we'll go home."

"Murdoc, listen, I did some research. The thing that's following you, I think its part of you. Your evil side, if you're not entirely made of evil. Your own personal Boogieman."

"Fun." Murdoc grins wickedly.


	13. Chapter 13

**A/N: back again! I know it's been over a week. Apologies. Got a nice buffer going. We're nearing the end of the Gorillaz's time on Plastic Beach, but I plan on continuing the adventures of Murdoc and Virginia in subsequent chapters. If you guys want... Or even if you don't. Ha... Anyway, Enjoy!**

Chapter 13

Murdoc and I sit in silence for the short ride in the submarine. We pull up on land and Murdoc floors it until we reach the airport. A private plane is waiting for us.

"We could have just taken the next plane out to London," I say icily.

"What? And be mobbed by rabid fans? When you're in the Gorillaz, you're a household name, love," Murdoc says, grinning. I grimace and push past him, boarding the plane.

"Virginia," he calls out, running after me. "I didn't mean it like that-"

"Stuff it, Murdoc. You're so full of it. The Gorillaz don't run the world. You are, at best, a novelty with a cult following. You have deluded yourself into thinking you're this international superstar-it's fucking ridiculous is what it is." I slam myself into a seat and turn away from him. I see Stylo being loaded onto the plane, and 2D looks distraught that he can't be with Noodle.

Murdoc walks over and sits next to me as 2D boards the plane. We begin to taxy down the runway not long after. I want to curl into a little ball. How could I have let myself get into this situation? I know better than that; I thought I had learned.

"You think you're such a Casanova, but you're just a pathetic little man who's afraid to be alone with himself at night," I lash out at Murdoc as we take off.

"I am very happy with who I am, thank you very much. I am the motherfucking head of the motherfucking Gorillaz, who are, in fact, international sensations. I happen to LIKE sex. I DIDN'T like the shit that goes with a relationship. I like my booze, and I like my women. I like YOU, Virginia."

"So what, then, Murdoc? I'm another one of your pathetic floozies? You think I'll come to bed whenever you call?" I'm close to shouting now, and my face is flushed. "You're just like Carter! You're only concerned about yourself. God forbid you have feelings for another human being. You have your women, and each one is no different form the other. I feel like such a fool: another one of Murdoc's conque-

"I didn't write a song for any of them!" Murdoc yells over me, his eyes wild. "You're the only one, alright? I didn't want to write a song for any of them, but believe me they asked. You inspire me; you've inspired me from day one, okay?" He sighs exasperatedly and places a hand on my knee. I pick up his hand and place it on the armrest between us, leaving my hand right next to his, entwining our little fingers.

We sit in silence for a long time, and I try to ignore the electric hum that seems to be between us. I'm trying to keep an eye on 2D; he seems anxious about Noodle, pacing frequently. I can tell Murdoc is starting to get annoyed with him, but as I look at over, I see something akin to pity in his eyes.

Finally, Murdoc breaks the silence, "Virginia, I want to make a go of this with you. I can't promise you forever, I can't- oh fuck this- I'm not much for speech making." He grabs my face and kisses me, hard. I don't pull away; instead, I try to devour him. His lips are surprisingly soft; his hands are rough and calloused, and I welcome the familiar feeling.

When I finally break away, my lips are swollen and Murdoc is grinning. "What do you say, 'Gin?"

I pause to think before I respond. Murdoc isn't Carter. Where Carter tried to hide who he was, Murdoc embraced it. I couldn't deny my attraction to him, nor could I ignore my connection with him.

"Fuck all," I say, a smile tugging at the corner of my mouth. "At least you'll tell me when you bone someone else, you tosser."

Murdoc laughs. "Haven't wanted to bone anyone else, strumpet. I'm beginning to think women from the '50's do it better. I'm getting a drink, you want something?"

"You know what I like," I say coyly. Murdoc gets up and returns with two tumblers of whiskey. He hands me one. "Cheers."

"To us," he says. We both drain our glasses. As he pours us another round, he asks, "Where were you all that time?"

"I spent a while in New York-Thank you," I take a sip of my fresh drink. "I sold my soul, again, and worked in this corporate hell-hole facsimile of a club. I never felt so slimy in my life, and that includes trying to seduce a woman to chase her from your home." We both chuckle. "I was only in Vegas for a week. It was strange, I felt like I needed to go out there, like something was pulling me."

"You know, I found the strangest thing in Vegas," Murdoc begins. "I was trying to sober up from what has to be one of my longest benders, and I stumble into this coffee shop that has tea. They have this drink called a London Fog. Supposedly it's Earl Grey tea and steamed milk. It's horrible, it's an affront to tea is what it is." Murdoc sticks his long tongue out of his mouth as I laugh.

"I've had one of those, I didn't think it was that bad; I thought it was rather like a marshmallow, but, no, it wasn't true tea."

"Heathen," Murdoc says warmly. We continue to catch up through the whiskey bottle until the sedative effect of the drink puts me to sleep.

I wake up to Murdoc gently shaking my shoulder. My head is resting on his chest, his necklace making an imprint in my face. A green hand is wrapped around me, long fingers curling around my arm. I listen to Murdoc's heartbeat for a moment, taking in the strange newness of it all. I then peel myself away and look up at him. He's wearing a half-smile on his face.

"Wakey wakey, we're here," he says. I grimace, a slight hangover has my eyes narrowed against the light, and my tongue feels like carpet. As if reading my mind, Murdoc hands me a water bottle. "You've lost some of your tolerance. I'm embarrassed for you." A shit-eating grin creeps over his face, and my grimace slips into a full-blown scowl as I twist off the cap. "Kidding. Now come on, we need to get moving." I don't like the sense of urgency in his voice. I'm up like a shot after that, forcing myself into awareness as I make my way off the plane. Murdoc follows behind me, and 2D is on the tarmac with Stylo and Noodle. Murdoc takes my hand somewhat hesitantly as we make the short walk over to the car. His palm is cold and clammy. My free hand moves halfway towards my gun. Murdoc turns to look at me, genuine fear in his eyes. I flash back to my first morning in Plastic Beach, holding a knife to his throat. That's the only other time I've seen him genuinely afraid. I grab his wrist as he turns to walk to the driver's side.

"Hey," I say, looking into his eyes. I pull him close and put my hands in his hair. Murdoc's hands come to rest on my waist. "It's going to be alright, Murdoc. I'll keep you safe." Murdoc nods, and I see faint splashes of color in his cheeks- embarrassment from his sudden show of humanity.

As we drive to the coast, Murdoc's knuckles turn pale green as he grips the wheel. His jaw is clenched tight, and the car is practically flying down the road. 2D is in the back with Noodle, trying frantically to fix her. We fly into the ocean, but this time I am not shocked by the transformation from car to submarine. Murdoc excuses himself briefly and returns in a white turtleneck and captain's hat. I snicker, and he leers at me before I reach over and take his hand.

Noodle, meanwhile, sits up and coughs up an octopus. 2D looks alarmed but relieved, and I'm happy for the lad. I turn to look at Murdoc. His strong jaw is still clenched, and his eyes are fixed on the water ahead of us.

"So," I begin, trying to break the tension, "how did your nose get like that? Some girl's boyfriend?" I laugh nervously. I wonder if discussing other women is taboo now that we're… what the hell are we doing, anyway?

"Something like that. It's been broken multiple times," he says, loosening. "More recently, I slept with a girlfriend of 2D's, and then Russel, our old drummer, punched me. Deserved it, I did, but it was worth it. She was a damn good lay." There's an awkward pause before Murdoc gruffly adds, "You're damn good, too."

"Thanks," I say, more out of obligation than anything else. "Murdoc, when you said you wanted to 'make a go of this,' what exactly did you mean?"

"I mean a real, honest go of it. Seeing if we can work. 'Gin, the way you make me feel, I just… I meant let's try an adult relationship with-adult-things." He grins at me and puts a hand on my upper thigh. A jolt of electricity shoots through me. Without thinking, I climb over onto his lap. A small laugh rumbles out of Murdoc's chest.

"Alright, Murdoc," I purr, "And when we get back to Plastic Beach, I'll show you all the tricks I've picked up over the years."

My hands slide up Murdoc's chest and into his hair as I kiss him, long and slow, a promise of future pleasures. Murdoc moans softly, then yelps in surprise. I flip off of him as he swerves to avoid a large school of fish.

I flush red, realizing 2D probably just saw and heard everything, and we both laugh. "Naughty girl," Murdoc whispers. "I like this side of you." My hand wanders over and traces slow circles around Murdoc's crotch until I feel him tense suddenly.

"What?" I ask, already knowing the answer. A pit begins to form in my stomach.

"It's near. I'm surfacing." The fear is back in his eyes. My face is set. I move to the back of the submarine and find a shotgun for Noodle.

When we surface, Murdoc crawls out of the hatch and I am hot on his heels. I draw both of my guns as soon as I stand up. We're surrounded by fog, about 10 meters from an island that seems to be emitting a rotten smell. Murdoc has a spy glass pressed to his face, and through the fog I see a dead manatee on top of the island and a red-eyed creature on top of it, the Boogeyman. Wordlessly, Murdoc points at it, and I nod, holstering one of my guns. I need the best aim possible. I signal for Noodle to hold fire. I look down the barrel of my gun, take aim, and fire. The shot is loud as I fire, and the recoil is huge, but I'm familiar with this gun, and I squeeze off as many rounds as I can. Unfortunately, I don't think I hit it anywhere damaging. Murdoc takes the spyglass from his eye and shakes his head. He looks so afraid, and as the fog clears I can see why. Plastic Beach is going to be under attack.


	14. Chapter 14

**A/N: sorry for the lateness. I'm a lazy/busy bum. Anyway, here we go! Enjoy!**

Chapter 14

Myrdoc quickly drives into a well-hidden garage, transforming the submarine back into Stylo. I never found this place in my late night wandering, but I know I'm close to where Murdoc keeps the Winnebago.

I spring out of the car, ready to go. Murdoc has a look of grim determination on his face. He's ready. "2D," I bark, go hide in your room. Noodle, come with me." I take off at a run, Noodle hot on my heels. I run through the house to the gun range as I hear a loud thump up above.

"It's on the roof," Murdoc hisses. I toss him a pistol and he tucks it into the waistband of his pants. As I throw him some extra ammo, I'm relieved I put the safety on, but I doubt he'll have the guts to use it, anyway. Not with his life on the line. He's a devious puppet master, to be sure, but up until now he has been careful not to put his own safety at risk. I toss Noodle two SMGs and pray she remembers how to use them. I take more ammo for my Desert Eagles and sling an assault rifle over my shoulders. Deep down, I have a bad feeling about this.

Murdoc leads the charge up to the roof. I stay at the rear, and I find myself staring at his ass as he runs. I shake my head; focus, no inappropriate thoughts. Murdoc pushes open the trapdoor that leads to the roof, and the boogieman turns around. Noodle and I step up behind Murdoc, flanking him. Noodle grins as she opens fire. The thing leaps off the roof and runs across the lawn, slipping behind a satanic statue that belongs to Murdoc. Noodle follows its path with a hail of bullets, destroying the statue. I have yet to even draw my guns. This is just a show. I've seen this many times before. We're going to be ambushed.

There's a moment of calm, and we walk to the edge of the roof, staring out over the water. Murdoc's face is set, his jaw clenched. Noodle is, unsurprisingly, expressionless. Murdoc knows what's coming. He looks at me, and I nod. This has become more about survival than anything else. He exhales sharply and returns his gaze to the water. My fingers twitch in anticipation.

I motion for Noodle to go, and she takes off. An evil grin creeps over Murdoc's face, a mischievous light in his eyes. I follow his gaze and see the ship. That creature is on it. Murdoc grins wider, his tongue hanging out. He's not afraid, anymore. I, however, fight back a surge of paralyzing fear and draw my guns, letting them hang at my side.

I hear a loud crack as Noodle bursts out of the house. She's armed herself with a number of weapons. If we're careful, maybe we can defend Plastic Beach. The creature raises its arms, and an army appears out of nowhere.

"Black Cloud," Murdoc murmurs, and I'm not surprised. I'm sure they'd love to have another go at him. The boogieman raises its arms again and planes speed toward us. I detachedly notice they look like something from my days with MI-6. Murdoc bolts for the trapdoor, a look of surprise on his face. I'm close behind him, firing a few parting shots before we get dive-bombed. A spray of bullets follows us, and we make it to safety just in time. There is a loud explosion above us, and another plane comes along and shoots out the windows, as well. Glass shards fly everywhere, and Murdoc and I do not make it unscathed. We're both covered in scratches and gashes. Murdoc has a particularly nasty one on his arm, and I can feel blood dripping into my eyes. We look at each other and I know we're thinking the same thing: it's time to run.

2D bursts into the room, scaring me. "What the bloody hell? I told you to stay in your room!" I shout.

"Russel is back," he pants, "he's huge."

"Take us to him. Murdoc," I turn to him, "I think Plastic Beach is a lost cause. Do you have what you need to finish the album?"

"Of course. Already sent most of it off. We can get studio time in London to finish the rest."

"Great. Let's go." We make a break for it, dodging broken glass and flying bullets. 2D leads us outside to where a giant man is perched on the side of the island. Standing next to him is, I assume, the real Noodle. 2D grins and runs to embrace her. Even crotchety Murdoc has a smile on his face. I keep a wary eye on the planes. I catch my name in the conversation as Murdoc introduces me. In the meantime, members of the Black Cloud have invaded Plastic Beach. We don't have time for this. Animatronic Noodle continues to fire on the pirates until a shot to the head fries her circuits for good. 2D looks faintly disappointed.

"We need to go," I shout over the noise. Something dawns on me. "Oh SHIT FUCK DAMMIT TO BLOODY BUGGERING HELL!" I yell.

"What?" Murdoc asks, looking alarmed.

"My sax. Bloody perfect. It's still in Stylo. Alright. Russel, take 2D and Noodle to the mainland. London, if you can manage." He nods and takes Noodle and 2D, who is clutching animatronic Noodle, into his mouth and walks away. I turn to Murdoc. "You have a rowboat somewhere around here." He opens his mouth to protest, but I cut him off, "I know you do. You're not stupid, nor am I. I found it before I left. You go and wait for me, and if I'm not there in three minutes, you go, alright?"

"Virginia, just leave it."

"I can't, alright? You bloody well know this. That sax means more to me than anything, except maybe… never mind." I grab him by the shoulders and kiss him fiercely before running off. I draw both my guns as I go, knowing this is a foolish idea that may well get me killed. I can't live with myself, though, if I leave it. My dad was everything to me for a long time. I owe this to myself.

I run silently through the house. It's suspiciously quiet, save for the sounds of boots on the floors above me. I think they're looking for us. I make it to the garage before I am finally discovered.

A man stands in the doorway, gun drawn. I shoot him in the chest, but not before he calls for help. A flood of them come in, shooting at me. I get shot twice in the stomach as I dive for cover behind Stylo. I look down and see I'm bleeding, badly. My hand can't cover both wounds at once. I lean against the car and close my eyes. This is it. Inhaling sharply, I spring up and return fire, gritting my teeth against the pain. I'm taking as many of those bastards down with me before I go. Adrenaline sharpens my senses, and my aim is true.

I fire until I grow unsteady on my feet, then I sit with my back to the car and wait for them, gasping for air. They've stopped firing, they're probably going to surround me. I hear a series of quick shots, and the noise surprises me. I turn and peer around the hood of the car. Murdoc is standing in the doorway, his gun drawn, firing blindly at the Black Cloud pirates. He runs and joins me behind Stylo.

"I told you… to go…" I say faintly. "I never thought… you'd use that thing." He kisses my forehead.

"Couldn't leave a crazy woman like you behind. You'd burn the whole place down." I smile, then wince. The adrenaline has worn off. Murdoc glances down and exhales in surprise. "That's bad, 'Gin. I've got to get you out of here." Murdoc thinks for a moment, and then opens the back door of Stylo. He gently picks me up, wincing as my weight lands on his gashed arm, and lays me in the back. He takes my guns and throws them in the front seat. He crawls carefully into the driver's seat, keeping his head low. He opens the hatch we came in and floods the garage. The Black Cloud members are caught by surprise, scrambling for the door. Murdoc turns Stylo into a submarine once more and reverse into open water. I'm struggling to stay conscious.

"Murdoc," I whisper faintly. He turns to look at me, tears beginning to form in his eyes. I'm so scared. There's blood everywhere. My hands are dark red. "Thank you… for coming back for me… At least… I'm in the company… of a friend." The pain is almost too much. I can barely think, let alone speak.

"You're going to be okay, Virginia. I'll keep you safe." He sounds more terrified than I've ever seen him. I've lost too much blood. There's no way. "God dammit Virginia you can't just die. You're too-" I black out.


	15. Chapter 15

**A/N: Oh my god I'm a terrible person I left this for a really long time on a cliff hanger I'm so sorry. Let's just accept that I'm a terrible person and move on. As always, reviews are greatly appreciated, and I will not be as long with the next update. I'm rather unsure of what I want to do after the next chapter. I could complete the story, or I could keep going. The new album is out, after all!**

Chapter 15

"-important to me," Murdoc finishes. Virginia is unconscious. He floors it with a sense of urgency. There's so much blood, and it just keeps coming. Murdoc feels sick. He keeps an eye on the rise and fall of her chest as he drives, not sure what to do if she stops breathing. A steady panic rises in his chest, she can't stop breathing.

Before too long, he is back on land and flying towards London. Virginia is still alive, just barely. Murdoc is relieved the boogieman isn't following him. He can't handle it without her. She was always so calm, so in control. Her guns lay abandoned on the front seat, and Murdoc makes a note to stow them in the glove box. The less questions, the better. His arm hurts; he'll need stitches.

Murdoc drives to the closest ER in London, carefully taking Virginia into his arms and rushing inside. A flock of doctors and nurses run over and gently take her from his arms. He folds in on himself without her, and someone guides him to a chair. Murdoc is numb to their voices, only answering questions after they've been asked two or three times. He just needs to know if she'll be okay. If he loses her, he'll lose his last shred of humanity, and then what? He'd become exactly what most people assumed he was already: a heartless sociopath just filling a void with fame, booze, and women.

Somehow, the rest of the Gorillaz find him. They all sit in the waiting room together, except for Russel, who sits outside. Murdoc doesn't recall his arm being bandaged, but there's clean white gauze where there once was glass and blood. 2D fidgets nervously while Noodle questions him about the events after the Feel Good, Inc. tragedy, all the way up to the Plastic Beach debacle. She seems to approve of Virginia. Beneath his numbness, Murdoc feels a small sense of pride knowing this.

After what seems like years, a doctor comes and says Virginia is in critical condition, but will hopefully be fine. Murdoc hangs his head to hide the warm tears sliding down his cheeks. 2D places a hand on his shoulder, and he doesn't immediately shake it off. He sighs with relief. She's not dead, he tells himself over and over. Something nags at the back of his mind, a feeling hiding beneath the numbness and shock.

The sun is rising as the trio walk out of the hospital. Russel raises a giant, questioning eyebrow and Noodle nods. The drummer gives a slight smile. Murdoc wordlessly climbs in to Stylo and speeds off in search of a stiff drink. Or ten. He needs to feel something other than the tightness in his chest. She's okay, but at what cost? She never should have been shot in the first place. He never should have gotten her involved in this whole mess. If he had been a smart man, he would have just let her stay in the states and make a new life for herself. She'd have found a man who saw through her lone-wolf façade to the girl who was tired of being alone, tired of shying away from love. She would have forgotten him and gone on with the rest of her life. She'd be happy, and he would be no different than he was when he first met her, save for a couple fond memories of drunken nights and her warm skin on his.

Murdoc finds himself in a seedy bar, working his way through two bottles of whiskey. Finally, the shock begins to fade. Murdoc finally begins to feel things, like the dull ache in his arm. A drunken idea fills his mind, and Murdoc stumbles out of the bar. He pours himself into Stylo and drives off. Somehow, Murdoc finds himself at the hospital, and he stumbles around mumbling to himself until he finds Virginia's room. He stands in the doorway, swaying slightly, staring at her. She looks so peaceful, if you can get past the tube in her mouth. Not to mention the wires and monitors. Murdoc is filled with a drunken rage at the unfairness of it all.

"Dammit," he whispers. "Dammit!" he shouts. "How could you?" he slurs, waving his arms around like windmills. "You could have just left it. I hope you're happy. If you die, you can go and find your precious Carter. Maybe that was your plan all along! You wanted this! You were going to die, just to spite me. Just because I said I cared. Well, I don't. You're nothing to me. You were right about that. Just another woman I fucked for no other reason than because I-"

"Murdoc!" Noodle's voice stops his drunken rant. "Shut it. Come." She grabs his good arm roughly, dragging him out of the room. He stumbles along behind her until she shoves him angrily into the back of Stylo. Virginia's blood is still there. Murdoc begins to weep drunkenly. 2D is in the front seat, a look of disapproval on his normally empty face. Murdoc passes out.

When he comes to, he vomits in a bucket he finds next to him. His head he pounding; he groans as he realizes he has no idea where he is. He makes his way to a set of stairs, still clutching the bucket. He slowly makes his way down, every muscle in his body protesting vehemently. A feeling of shame haunts him, and he goes through what few memories he has after he left the bar. He knows he did something truly awful and the guilt makes him sick again.

Once he reaches the bottom of the steps, Murdoc finds himself in a kitchen. Noodle is sitting at an island, and she glares at him.

"Wha?" he manages, no memories of the events that got him here.

"You're a piece of scum," she says, "You find one person who you genuinely give a damn about and who can tolerate your selfish ass, and then you go drunkenly yelling at her while she's unconscious. Oh, by the way," she adds, "while you were getting wasted," she places an emphasis on wasted, and Murdoc sighs, "we found this house. It's on Wobble Street, not that's of any importance to you, you self-centered prick."

"Oh, fuck," he croaks, sitting down and placing his head in his hands. "I remember. Fuck." A big, brown finger comes through the window and pokes Murdoc hard in the nose. That makes 6 times Russel has punched him in the face. Murdoc moans sadly, rocking back and forth. He remembers everything, now. He didn't mean it. He wants to take it all back. He thanks Satan in all his hellish glory that she didn't hear him. He would never forgive himself if she had.

"You're an ass, man." Russel's voice floats through the open window. "You're normally an ass, don't get me wrong, but damn if you haven't hit a new low."

Rubbing his nose, Murdoc says bitterly, "I bloody well know that." He's filled with self-loathing. He was supposed to be there for her, but he failed her. He should never have let her go alone. He should have taken those bullets, instead. If he was a brave man, he'd have leapt in front of her, shielded her from the attack. He was a damn coward who only cared about saving himself. At least he came back in the end, a small voice says. It isn't good enough, though. He never should have let anything happen to her in the first place. He would find a way to make it up to her, even if she never knew what happened.

"Look," Noodle says sharply, bringing him back to reality, "the doctor said she may wake up today. You missed two days. So, you're going to go down there and sit with her. You are going to hold her hand and do your best to refrain from being an arse, and, most importantly, you are going to thank Satan for having the decency to send you a woman like Virginia." Murdoc nods and then vomits again.

Murdoc drives to the hospital and walks to Virginia's room, ignoring the pointed stares. He's brought several things for her: some flowers, which he does his best to arrange carefully in a vase, the picture of her with her parents that he found in her suitcase, a teddy bear that 2D had made him promise to get for her that he begrudgingly admits is pretty damn cute, but he mostly got for her out of guilt, and, of course, her saxophone. He has no concrete reasoning for bringing it; he just hopes seeing it will make her happy. He sits in a chair beside her bed and takes her hand in both of his.

"I'm sorry, 'Gin. I'm so sorry," he whispers, weeping. He climbs into bed with her and wraps his arm around her still form. His free hand combs through her soft hair. He rests his cheek on top of her head. His arm still hurts like hell, but it's nothing compared to her. Tubes emerge from where she was shot, and Murdoc fights another wave of nausea. He should be the one in this bed. He can't lose her. He can't. He can't go back to a life without her. Even though she's sarcastic, snarky, and sometimes a downright bitch, she lights up his life. She is his favorite drinking partner, and she always calls him on his crap. So many of the women Murdoc has slept with have let him be just awful to them, but Virginia never took any of it. He likes being challenged. Losing her will mean losing the one person besides maybe Noodle that he would consider a friend. He would never forgive himself, that's for sure. He needs her to wake up so he can take her face between his hands and kiss away the words he said to her.

He waits. Nurses and doctors come and go, each saying she could wake up at any time Murdoc kisses her forehead every now and again, but he is beginning to lose hope. It's been hours. He's thinking about getting wasted again, this time to take away his feelings. He just wants to forget ever meeting her. He wants to get rid of the terrible guilt that haunts him now. He wants to live in a drunken world where he was the hero who took a bullet for a beautiful woman. He feels her begin to move in his arms, and he jumps in surprise. He looks down at her to see her brown eyes opening. He grins and kisses her forehead, wanting to pull her tighter to him, but prevented by her many tubes and wires. He's never been so happy to see a woman wake up next to him.


	16. Chapter 16

Chapter 16

 _I wake up with a gasp, sitting bolt upright. My hands fly to my stomach, searching for the bullet holes. I can't find them; I look down to find that my shirt is not ripped and bloodstained. I furrow my brow as I look around. I'm clearly not in a hospital, nor am I on Plastic Beach._

" _Hello, Virginia," the smooth voice surprises me. I look up to see a classically handsome man staring at me. Even in a more modern suit, I recognize him._

" _This has to be a dream. This isn't real."_

" _It is, and it is not," the devil says calmly. "It depends on the outcome of our conversation." He pauses. "You are at a crossroads, Virginia. You can live, or you can die. Because I am a generous man," he grins, "I'll leave the choice entirely up to you." His fingers come together in a pyramid, his grin turning sinister. I push myself to my feet, thinking. I've wished for the ability to die so many times. It would be over, and that would be it. My hell was on Earth, and there's nothing he could do that would hurt me any worse. My thoughts drift to Murdoc, the way he smiles, and the way I felt when he kissed me. I felt alive with him, and not just because of whatever we had. I was, once again, Virginia, the badass with the guns. I know what I want. I search for my guns, just in case. He chuckles, and I look him dead in the eyes._

" _I choose to live," I say, evenly. I'm trying to get a couple steps ahead of him, planning my next moves. I know what's coming._

 _He sucks in a breath, "Oh, I'm sorry, no. You see, I thought you were tired of your life, but now I see you've found someone you love. I left you alive, stranded, because you had nothing left, and I knew you were afraid to be on your own."_

 _I glare. "You've succeeded in hardening me to the world. I'm not in love. He is… incapable of love, anyway." His eyebrows raise, and a look of pleased surprise passes over his face._

" _You're in love with Murdoc Niccals?" he cackles. "You poor thing!" I growl and rush him, tackling him to the ground. My hand grabs his throat, just to shut him up._

" _I will say this once," I hiss through gritted teeth, "I do not love him. I have found someone who understands me, but I do not love him."_

" _Yet," he whispers. My hand slackens its grip and he_ _crawls_ _out from under me. "Luckily for you, I'm quite fond of old Murdoc. Did you know he sold his soul for fame? I even gave him my bass, El Diablo. I'm quite fond of myself," he laughs, "I knew you two lost souls would find each other. So, here's the deal, sweetheart: I'm going to let you go back to ol' Mudzy, out of the goodness of my heart, no less. Not for you, though. If it was anyone but Murdoc, your life would be over. I believe in_ _gratifying_ _my followers, if you catch my drift."_

 _My eyes narrow. "What's the catch?"_

" _Not catch."_

" _Bullshit."_

" _This isn't for_ _you_ _. Consider it a favor to Murdoc. You two have become my favorite souls. I like to watch your lives blow up. Besides, this is all a dream, isn't it? The choice was yours all along, wasn't it?" He chuckles, "You'll never know."_

My eyes blink open, and I see white sheets and a body next to mine. Everything hurts, and I groan. There's a hand in my hair. What's wrapped around my chest? I look up and see Murdoc lying next to me, grinning. I smile weakly. His hand comes up and brushes my cheek.

"'Gin," he whispers, kissing my forehead. I blush, the memories of my dream coming back to me. _I don't love him, yet_. The words roll around in my mind. I care about him. I feel safe in his arms. "I'm sorry," he says, his voice breaking.

"Sorry? For what?" my voice is hoarse, and my mouth feels like a desert.

Handing me a glass of water, Murdoc says, "You never should have gotten hurt. I never should have let you go alone. I was only thinking of myself."

"Murdoc."

"No, it's true. Doesn't help that I came in here drunk and yelled at you..." He trails off, looking embarrassed.

I laugh quietly. "Murdoc, drunken verbal assaults aside, I don't blame you. You saved my ass, in the end. I knew it was suicide to go. I never would have let you come with me, but you came back for me. I owe you my life." He pulls me closer, squishing my pain pump. "Ow, Murdoc, off." He releases me, a sheepish grin on his face.

"I made an ass of myself."

"What else is new?" He laughs.

The doctor comes in, and Murdoc gets off my bed, sitting in a chair beside me. He tells me I can go home in a couple days, that I am lucky, and that I need to take it easy.

"I'll take good care of her," Murdoc promises. The doctor purses his lips. He must have seen Murdoc's drunken outburst. Nothing important has been permanently damaged, he concludes. He leaves, reminding Murdoc about visiting hours.

"Listen, 'Gin," Murdoc says, "The album is almost finished. Noodle needs to put the finishing touches on a couple songs, and then the Gorillaz will once again rocket to the top of the charts. 2D, Noodle, and Russel found a house, so the idiot's set, but, ah, I was thinking that you and I should get out of here for a while. Maybe go to an island somewhere, yeah? Get reacquainted?" He sticks his tongue out suggestively.

"Alright," I say, "I'll pack a bikini." I wink. Murdoc climbs back into bed with me, wrapping me once more in his arms. "Thanks for bringing my sax," I say, "makes almost dying worth it." He laughs; I can feel the rumble in his chest as I lay on him.

"2D made me get you a teddy, too, look." Murdoc grabs a small stuffed bear from a table at the foot of my bed and hands it to me. The thing is soft and cute, and I smile.

"Very thoughtful of him." Murdoc snorts, but remains silent. We lay like that for a while, Murdoc and I, until I start to fall asleep. "Murdoc," I say sleepily.

"Mmm."

"Is your bass really from the devil?"

He chuckles, "yeah, Virginia. Good guy, the devil." I laugh softly, and before I know it, I fall asleep listening to Murdoc hum softly to himself.

 **A/N: Hope you enjoyed that. Sad to say that there's only one more chapter after this, but I feel the story has run it's course.**


	17. Chapter 17

**A/N: Here we are, the final chapter. Just a short little epilogue to wrap things up. Enjoy!**

 **Chapter 17**

I'm in our bedroom, sprawled on the bed, and Murdoc is in the bathroom working on his 'look' for the next album. He said he wanted something from 'my generation', whatever that means. I'm waiting patiently for him, eager to see what he has in mind. I can't help but reflect on the last few years. I like our flat here in London; hell, I even like the quiet life, but I'm excited for the new album. I can't believe how things have turned out for me. Murdoc has been a pleasant surprise, remaining loyal to me despite his wandering nature.

Murdoc finally exits the bathroom after much grunting and grumbling. Looking at him, I laugh so hard I nearly roll of the bed. He's sporting a ridiculous pompadour and a black suit that looks like it belongs in a mafia movie.

"Murdoc!" I gasp, "You're going to scare small children!" He looks so ridiculous, but underneath that is something sinister.

"What, love? You don't like it? I think it's rather great. I was going for a Sinatra vibe. How'd I do?" He flops next to me on the bed, looking at me with a faux-serious expression.

"It's ridiculous, Murdoc." I'm still snickering.

"Oh come one now. We can give you a classic Marilyn Monroe hairstyle, put in you in a slinky black dress, we'll be quite the pair." He pulls me close. "You'll be stunning." I laugh and make a grab for his hair, ruffling it.

"Oh jesus, fuck, Murdoc! How much gel did you use?" My hand is coated in the stuff. _So sticky._

"Not too much…" he says, looking sheepish.

"Mhmmm" I continue to mess with his hair. "Blood ridiculous, Murdoc. And I'm not letting you anywhere near my hair. I, unlike you, know what I'm doing." Having messed his hair to my satisfaction, I pull him in for a kiss. The best is yet to come…


End file.
